
I 



•^^ A BOOK TO SAVE 

TEMPTED a 



YOUNG 






MEN. 





/..rgr^Ves,d.d. 



mmmmsk 




Qass 
Book 



R\/. 



FE 


",RICAN 




SEP 8 1926 




LIBRARY 



Down geade; 



A B««K le 



Save Tempted Young Men. 



A. P. GRAVES, D. D. 



''f^ *• L«i^ loMw^th tbe way of tiM iighc«MS; tat tin* imy^ of 
oHgodly AaM perish."— /"^o^m^ i: 6. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 

1701-1703 Chestnut Street. 






Ehtkred, According to Act op CoNORitss, in thb Tear 1878, 

By a. p. graves, D.D.. 

[IT THE Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

Published April, 1905 

Ey Exchange 
Amer. f ederaTton cf Labor 

OCT 2 193> 



<0 



TO 



MY ELDEST SON, 

Who 18 Just Entering the Responsible Years of Life, 



WHEREIN HE WILL BE ASSAILED BY MAITY 

TEMPTATIONS TO LEAD HIM IN 

THE DOWNWARD ROAD, 



this book is parentally inscribed by 

The Author. 



PREFACE, 



"Which will you choose?" 

These are the closing words of this book. The 
perusal of page after page will reveal to the reader 
their weighty import. There is reason to believe that 
in New York, Boston, Chicago, Louisville, St. Paul, 
all the cities, and the rural districts of our land, there 
are not a few young men, whose sun goes down in 
darkness, and whose end resembles that of the hero 
of the followins: narrative. To chanofe the course 
and save such as are threatened with the same 
dangers this little book is given to the young men of 
my country. 

A, P. G. 



OOISTTEI^TS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PAOB. 

His Home, 11 

CHAPTER II. 
His Altar op Sacred Power, ... - 16 

CHAPTER III. 
His Boy Companions, 20 

CHAPTER IV. 
His Men Associations, - 24 

CHAPTER V. 
His Educational Advantages, 28 

CHAPTER VI. 
His Company at School, 31 

CHAPTER VII. 
His Mistakes at School, 35 

CHAPTER VIII. 
His Moral Tendencies, - 39 

CHAPTER IX. 
He Weighs Religion, - - 42 

CHAPTER X. 
His Serious Decision, 45 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XI. 

PAGE. 

His Moral Poison, 49 

CHAPTER XII. 
He Considers Business, .--... 52 

CHAPTER XIII. 
His Worldly Charms, 55 

CHAPTER XIV. 
His Views of Right, 58 

CHAPTER XV. 
His Pursuit of Error, 61 

CHAPTER XVI 
His Affliction, 63 

CHAPTER XVII. 
His Tendency to Change, 67 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
He Mistakes His Course, - - - - - 70 

CHAPTER XIX. 
His Mistake Discovered, 73 

CHAPTER XX. 
His Friend's Advice, 76 

CHAPTER XXI 
His Habits Against Him, 79 

CHAPTER XXII. 
His Lack of Courage, 82 

CHAPTER XXIII. 
He Can Not Say No, 84 



CONTENTS. • 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
He Says Yes, 88 

CHAPTER XXV. 
His Sundays, ^^ 

CHAPTER XXVI. 
His Secular Days, ^^ 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

His Views of Happiness, ^ 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 
His Carnal Heart, ..----- 103 

CHAPTER XXIX. 
He Hears a Minister, - 1®6 

CHAPTER XXX. 
His Impression, 1^^ 

CHxAPTER XXXI. 
His Last Visit Home, - - 113 

CHAPTER XXXII. 
His Return from Home, 118 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 
Special Party and First Glass, - - - - 121 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 
The Night of Gambling, - - - - ° 1^5 

CHAPTER XXXV. 
Hunting a Situation, ..-- = =.- 130 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 
New Desires, .--.-- = - 134 



10 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

„ ^ -r, FA6B. 

Hi8 Lady Friend, 137 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
A Ray of Hope, 143 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 
His Last Chance, ... . . . 148 

CHAPTER XL. 
His Occasional Glass, - 152 

CHAPTER XLl. 
His Reputation GtOne, 156 

CHAPTER XLII. 
His Review of Mistakes, 160 

CHAPTER XLIII. 
Too Late, 165 

CHAPTER XLIV. 
His Utter Wretchedness, 168 

CHAPTER XLV. 
His Doom, 172 

CHAPTER XLVI. 
Young Man, Hear, Heed, 175 



Down Grade. 

CHAPTER L 

THE HOME OF THOMAS PEONE. 

Home is a life center. Again and again the 
young man deeply realized this living fact. As is 
the water to the fish, the tree to the bird, the 
shelter to the beast, so was home to him. And 
because he did not understand the secret work- 
ings of early home influence, so strongly attaching 
itself to him day by day, its reality was none 
the less true — none the less a living power, a 
stern reality that would in coming days restrain 
false steps, or be painfully resisted. Little did 
his youthful heart grasp his future; but it was 
as sure to come as that life should be spared. 
His father's tender words weighed little now. 
His wise counsels were thought unreasonable ; his 
morning prayers were a myth ; and the blessing 
at meals was a mysterious something without 
meaning.. His good example was unconsciously 
overlooked. But, as the learning of the alphabet. 



12 DOWN GRADE. 

SO all these were yet to spread a volume before 
him. His mother often led his child -thoughts 
along the items and avenues of the home circle. 
Hours, days, weeks, months, and years, together 
with tens of thousands of mother's words, were 
making Darby the place of all places to him. 

Just along the beautiful stream at the foot of 
the mountain his home was located. The farm 
was a fine one of two hundred acres, well stocked 
and cultivated for a good living. The house and 
all the buildings were fine. When a little boy, 
he was familiar with their every scene. The 
parlor, buttery, kitchen, bed-chamber, the place 
at the table, mother's seat, and father's seat, 
together with sisters and brothers , all imbedded 
in his heart that home about a mile from Darby 
village. The woodshed and carriage-house, the 
stable with horses and colts, the sheds with cattle 
and sheep, the hen-house and pig-sty, and the 
house for dog Trip, all had a place in his growing 
childhood. The garden with peas, beans, corn, 
and various vegetables ; the cherry, plum, and 
apple trees; the currant and raspberry bushes, 
and the beautiful flowers of various hues along 
the garden path, attracted his boyish attention 
more than he knew. The family parties for the 
children, where they met with the neighbors' 
children, greeted each other, laughed, sang, and 



HIS HOME. 13 

spent their buoyant life in youthful gratifications, 
he locked up in memory for other days. The 
family Bible upon the table, the small library in 
the book-case, and the weekly papers, religious 
and secular, were all contributions to the memory 
of future life. The coming of the family wagon 
to the door on Sunday morning to take him and 
the loved ones to church and Sunday school, was 
an event not to be forgotten. All these and 
many other scenes were fixing themselves upon 
his life and character as surely as that he lived. 

Little did he mistrust the dangers of the future. 
It was enough for him to enjoy the quiet and 
irresponsible hours of home. His sickness and 
health, joys and sorrows, love and hate, were all 
shared by parents, sisters, and brothers. Now 
and then he thought dimly of the possibility of 
many years to come. When his sister was sick, 
a thought of death pressed upon his heart. But 
of dying young he had no idea. Yet in his heart 
he would sometimes say, '' Should I die, where 
would my soul be?" God, Christ, the Holy 
Spirit, father, mother, and friends had so taught 
him that he believed he ought to be a Christian 
while young. One day he read from the Bible, 
" Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy 
youth." It deeply impressed him ; but such were 
his surroundings with associates, and the inward 



14 DOWN GRADE. 

workings of a carnal heart, that he stifled his con- 
victions. 

One day he heard his father tell a story of a 
boy who was brought up by a Quaker, who said 
to the boy, " If thee will do the best thee can, 
when thee leaves me I will give thee something 
worth a thousand dollars." And when the boy 
became a young man and was about to leave, the 
Quaker gave him a sealed envelope. He broke 
the seal and found a card with the words, ''A good 
hoy,'" written in large letters. This story deeply 
impressed him, and he inclined to practice the 
lesson it suggested. This was a golden moment, 
but he missed it. Little mistakes seemed of small 
account to him as the days passed on ; but as the 
little drops make the ocean, the mustard seeds 
the stalk and branches, the acorns the strong oak, 
so, though he little mistrusted it, the moments, 
acts, and steps of early life were making him a 
good or bad, strong or weak character. He 
became conscious that he was fast advancing in 
youthful influence and responsibility. He began 
to go into society, and felt that his parents and 
friends were daily watching him with interest 
between hope and fear. To shun bad company 
was his aim ; but little did he know how easy it 
was to form bad associations ere he was aware of 
it. And where he least suspected it, the first 



HIS HOME. 15 

lessons of a downward road were taught. Drink- 
ing saloons, social club-rooms of gaming, billiard 
halls, and gambling places are not all the schools 
of evil influence that catch up choice, unsuspect- 
ing boys. This he had not learned ; so, shunning 
these, he hoped to go aright. But, alas ! some 
professing Christian where he chanced to be 
spending an evening, persuaded him that there 
was no harm in a social game at cards, and this 
instruction had its sad force in later years. 

Secretly he thought of some pursuit of business 
for life. A few "castles in the air" were built; 
but considering matters for the future, he saw 
that he was not ready to embark on the voyage 
of life, but he must have more schooling, parental 
counsel, and maturity of years. So he lingered 
at the home which God had given him. 



CHAPTER II. 

HIS ALTAR OF SACRED POWER. 

How many altars there are built around the 
home fireside. The parental altar is most salutary 
for good or ill. It is impossible for this to pass 
its hours without making a deep impression upon 
every child of the home. Parental facts live. 
The name of father and mother is as ineffaceable 
as the sun, moon or stars. Their words and acts 
make indelible imprints upon the heart. This 
young man knew it, but little did he realize the 
magnitude of its truth. With some parents the 
influence of this altar is good, and with some it is 
bad. A young man in England when about to 
swing from the gallows for crime, seeing his 
mother at a little distance, wringing her hands, 
and crying, '^ O, my son, my son!" turned his 
withering eyes upon her and cried, " Mother i/ou 
did it, you did it!" What a flame of consuming 
fire to go up from the altar of that parent's 
influence. But our young man was reared by the 
light of no such fire. His was one of parental 
sacredness and blessing. 

The educational altar at home is one of no small 

16 



HIS ALTAR OF SACRED POWER. 17 

moment. There is no place where education is 
more potent than about the home circle. It is 
true some families are neglectful, and the children 
grow up in ignorance. Our hero suffered no such 
neglect. The district school, the academy, and 
the college were all at his command. Although 
brought up in a farm house, the library was stocked 
with well selected books; and several weekly 
papers, besides monthly magazines, offered him 
good advantages. Of these he availed himself in 
a commendable degree. 

A love altar at home is a mighty power. Every 
member of the family feels its force. With an 
affectionate mother, this has no limit. Because 
of this, children love each other and love their 
parents. At the home of our young friend this 
seemed unbounded. He knew its experience, but 
failed to estimate its worth. He felt the warmth 
of its altar fires continually. They were well 
calculated to light up his pathway for the future 
in happiness and a prosperous life. Every impulse 
of his nature was being fraught with its consecra- 
tions. These he knew, but he could not fathom 
their depths. As the understratum of rich earth 
offers fruitfulness and an abundant harvest to its 
vegetation, so the altar of home love promised 
rich blessings to Thomas Prone of Darby. How 



18 DOWN GRADE. 

fair the prospect, and how wise would he have 
been had he appreciated the proffers ! 

Labor at home always has its altar. And this, 
when rightly observed by both parents and chil- 
dren, is a power. This young man was taught to 
work. He knew early how to apply himself to the 
demands of labor about the home and on the farm. 
Sometimes, when he saw other boys idle, he 
thought it hard that he had to work. But every 
passing hour was developing in him brain and 
muscle. Had these lessons been rightly applied 
they would have wrought strongly with him for 
prosperous life. 

But there is no power in the Christian home of 
a young man like the sacred altar of prayer. As 
the warp and woof in the shuttle work of the 
loom is, so is this to the life of a young man. Do 
what he will, he can not extinguish its fires, 
even ''though he make his bed in hell." This is 
always God -given. At times, Thomas felt this 
fact. The morning and nightly prayer that went 
up from his father's lips, and occasionally from his 
mother, sister, and brother, brought to his heart 
such divine impressions, by the Holy Spirit, as 
could never be effaced. Whether he was at home 
or abroad they would ever offer their silent entrea- 
ties to lead him in the good way. Referring to 
this, he heard Edward R. relate how that one night 



HIS ALTAR OF SACRED POWER. 19 

as he lay upon his bed he was awakened from sleep 
and saw a form pass in at his door through the 
dim light of the moon. It vanished out of sight. 
Soon a voice was heard. It was the voice of 
prayer. His mother had come to his chamber 
and knelt at his bedside in prayer at the midnight 
hour. How God blessed that prayer ! Years after 
Edward had said when a Christian, '' I know not 
where I should have been had it not been for the 
prayers of my home.'* This led Thomas to won- 
der whether such an experience would ever be 
his. In this few boys were ever reared under 
better influences. And what a bright future was 
before him if his opportunities could only be 
improved. 



CHAPTER III. 



HIS BOY COMPANIONS. 



They were many. He appeared to be a kind 
of favorite with them all. Thej' liked him for 
his jokes, his genial disposition, and leadership 
of their ranks. Boys always want a leader as 
much as a company in the army wants a cap- 
tain. Thomas was the recognized head among 
the boys of Darby, and they felt a confidence in 
him that he would say and do the right thing in 
all their circles of sport or industry. What an 
opportunity to lead the boys in the right path ! 
He was amply prepared by the hallowed influ- 
ence of a fine home to bless every boy in his 
associations. And every boy, no matter how 
dissolutely inclined, was ready to be blessed. 
This was his chance. But his natural heart was 
destined to let it slip. 

All boys are more inclined to take a downward 
than an upward path, in a greater or less degree. 
And the companions of this young man were not 
unlike those of other neighborhoods. There were 
the brilliant and the stupid, the manly and the 
mean, the brave ones and the cowards, and the 



HIS BOY COMPANIONS. 21 

noble and good. He figured to fall into line with 
the varied tastes of all. When a noble youth 
inclined to a step in keeping with the best instincts 
of his nature, he would coincide, if it did not 
conflict out of measure with the majority of his 
associates. Boys always go in majorities. If a 
smart, pert fellow let slip a vulgar or profane 
word that gained the tacit indorsement of ''the 
boys," though it stung him to the heart, it got no 
word of rebuke from Thomas, the leader. And 
even sometimes, when some of the boys sought to 
be pious, and it brought forth the scornful laugh- 
ter of many in the company, although it was con- 
trary to the convictions of his heart, he sided with 
the laugh. The instincts of his nature as well 
as all the influences of his Darby home were 
against catering to habits of drinking liquor, 
smoking, obscene language, speaking disrespect- 
fully of parents or friends, or in any way disgust- 
ing the best tastes of good society. It would 
have been an offense to tell him that he would 
ever indulge in one of these habits, or even that 
he was in dano-er of doino^ so. 

Boys often think themselves safe when, by asso- 
ciations and circumstances, there is hardly the 
slightest reason for it. Their influence over each 
other is often, very often, overpowering. Occa- 



22 DOWN GRADE. 

sionally this boy would feel a slight impression 
that he ought to shun bad company. Yet when 
he fell in with the neighborhood boys he was 
exposed to their influence. As a little spot of 
paint will soil the clothing, and a little poison in 
the water do great harm, so the words and acts 
of one bad boy will destroy much good. 

While at play one day with his companions, he 
heard the news spread through their ranks that 
Will Jones of their companj^ had, the night before, 
been converted to Jesus. Some laughed, others 
swore and disbelieved it, another said it would 
not last long, and still another declared he would 
go up and shame Will out of being a Christian ; 
while Thomas said, " it is a good thing for some 
people." This was more than the boys liked to 
hear from their leader. At the same time he 
silently wished his young friend might prove a 
changed boy, yea, hoped the time might not be far 
distant when he himself wonld become a true 
Christian. The next day, while walking alone 
down the street, he met Will, and said, " Is it true 
that you have changed and are going to lead a 
religious life?" '' Yes, Thomas, and the last two 
days have been the happiest I ever knew. I wish 
you would come, too, and get what I have found. 
It is so blessed. Come now, if you will start, the 



HIS BOY COMPANIONSc 23 

other boys will go with us." '^ I know it is all 
right, but when I get a little older it will be time 
enough,'* was the reply. This was a golden 
opportunity, and neglecting it proved to be a 
fatal mistake 



CHAPTER IV. 



HIS MEN ASSOCIATIONS 



Boys are ambitious to be men. For this reason 
they seek to imitate their superiors in very many 
ways. And all boys have the propensities of 
natural hearts to impel them on. Hence the need 
of good and healthful influences to guide them 
aright. It is easier for the majority of boys to go 
in a bad, than in a good way, yet there are noble 
exceptions to this. In view of this fact, the men 
who form their associations are very likely to 
make ready impressions. 

It is true that our yonng friend had ample 
opportunity to scan the lives of good men, and 
take example from their characters. Yet his 
neighborhood was not free from the opposite. 
And although there were restraints in his mind 
which, if allowed, would have blessed him then 
and in the days to come, he catered too much to 
the society of dissolute and profane men. And 
while he did not particularly love their society, 
he did not shun it. A man who has grown into 
mature years in habits of evil thoughts and actions, 
will not be likely to exert a very hallowed iyiflu- 

84 



HIS ]MEN ASSOCIATIONS. 26 

ence over a rising boy, but may do much harm, 
and almost have the lad under sinful control 
before he is aware of it. Thomas was a boy 
easily led, on the one hand, and an easy and 
natural leader on the other. His early training 
had its promptings in all his surrounding circum- 
stances. Yet the men of sinful life around him 
had in no small degree an influence to lead him in 
sin. The habits of smoking, profanity, playing 
cards, drinking, and kindred evils with men of 
years and maturity about him, sometimes inclined 
him to think their practice would make a man of 
him. Just to be a man was his chief desire. So 
a form, five feet eight inches high, with an age 
of twenty-five or thirty years presented an ideal 
man. Character, habits and practices were, of 
course, all secondary. But 3'ou might as well 
undertake to make wheat out of sand, or gold 
coin out of copper, as to make a man of worth 
without character. Here this youth failed in his 
conclusions. And in spite of the memories of his 
blessed home he deliberately chose the unhallowed 
associations of men around him. Thomas might 
as well have attempted to swim in the lake with- 
out getting wet, as to associate with such com- 
pany without getting harm. 

On seeing men upright and good he would be 
kindly impressed, and inclined to their standard 



26 DOWN GRADE. 

and example. A neighbor was led to reform 
and set out on a Christian life. This filled the 
heart of the boy of Darby with deep interest. 
He could not doubt for a moment that he 
had done the best thing. The matter had his 
indorsement, and down in his heart he believed 
it was best to be a true Christian. Yet he 
was not prepared to express his views. Other 
men, instead of commending, ridiculed the 
idea of a religious life. He listened to their 
jests and jeers under secret protest but with an 
outward smile. This was the place, and now 
the time, for him to plant the moral seed-corn for 
future uprightness. Golden moment! As the 
spring is seedtime for a good wheat harvest, so 
boyhood days are for the happiness of manhood. 
But how many men of years, with the bitter expe- 
rience of sinfulness, lead our boys downward when 
they should warn them and turn their steps upward. 
Thomas did not know this now, and so he went as 
he was led. His steps were few and short it is 
true, but long journeys are not made in a minute. 
Whatever thought he had of his danger was dis- 
missed by the conclusion that he could change 
when he got a little older. Fatal mistake. A 
habit is a habit, and he found it so later in life. 
His mind was brilliant, his nerve vigorous, his 
strength firm, and his boyhood full of promise. 



HIS JVIEN ASSOCIATIONS. 27 

The men of his place were not slow to discover 
these traits. But good men with whom he asso- 
ciated daily were too lax in doing him good, and 
the bad men too ready to draw around him the 
network of sinfulness. Perhaps neither fully 
apprehended the effect of their influence upon the 
boy whom they admired. But as the helm works 
under the ship, guiding it in a certain direction, 
so the secret impulses of our young friend bore 
him out upon the ocean of life toward the mael- 
strom of death. 



CHAPTER Vo 

HIS EDUCATIONAL ADVANTAGES. 

Never was a boy more susceptible of common 
education and a knowledge of letters than Thomas 
Prone of Darby. At least such was his appear- 
ance in this, that it was frequently a matter of 
remark among the neighbors. Some thought that 
by all means he should have a liberal education, 
while others thought if he had a common school 
education it would answer his purpose for life's 
responsibilities, and still others were inclined to 
the idea that if he went away from home to school 
his habits might become dissolute and lead him to 
some sad end. In his needs and inclinations, 
what could and should be done for him his 
parents were not idle in considering. What 
could be done for his mental improvement in the 
district school they were decided to do, and also 
they determined to send him to the academy and 
to college, if at all practicable. Although he 
belonged to a well-to-do farmer's family, the 
children were numerous; and to supply their 
domestic needs and give all of them a good educa- 
tion required much wisdom and money. But 

28 



HIS EDUCATIONAL ADVANTAGES. 29 

Thomas began to show signs of having both wish 
and talent to be well educated. He was consid- 
erably in advance of most of the boys in school, 
so much so that the schoolmaster was proud of 
his brilliant pupil, and felt that he was of such 
unusual promise that he ought to have advantages 
beyond the limits of this school. There was no 
dullness about him. He learned easily and 
quickly. When he had leisure moments after 
studying his lessons he was fond of tricks with 
the scholars, yet at times he had earnest thoughts 
about a thorough and higher education for the 
responsibilities of life. His arithmetic, grammar, 
geography, and indeed all the studies taught in 
the district school, were being finished up. And 
so highly did the schoolmaster esteem the talent 
of our young friend that he had taken special 
pains for his perfectness in every branch. 

His teacher talked with his parents about his 
going to a higher school. They were quite 
pleased that he should take such interest in 
their son. The son himself felt the necessities 
of the hour. He longed to have a chance to 
advance in his studies, yet, like too many boys, 
his wishes were aimless. He wanted knowledge^ 
but had no idea what he was going to do with itr 
And, still worse, he had never thought that 
knowledge is a power for evil as well as a powei 



30 DOWN GRADE. 

for good. As easily could a bird be shot without 
taking aim as could a young man get an educa- 
tion and wisely use it without good calculations 
and plans. He should study his plans and decide 
his intentions. 

An instance in the past years of Mr. Prone 
now stirred up his mind with thought. He had 
known a boy who, on asking his father if he 
could go to college, received the reply, ''My son, 
I should as soon think of putting a sword into 
the hands of a madman as to send you to college 
without religion." He wanted his boy to have a 
good education and be a good man. For this he 
prayed. He was willing to deny self and do all 
in his power for the best good of his son. But, 
after considering matters as well as he could, 
he concluded to give him a good academic educa- 
tion. At Holly there was a fine academy. Here 
our young friend found as good advantages as he 
could wish. What a chance ! How many young 
men would like it and make a good use of it ! 



CHAPTER VI. 

HIS COMPANY AT SCHOOL^ 

The associations of school. What are they ? 
They are the wise and unwise, good and bad, and 
often the influence of these associations is as 
potent as any to be found. From the child of six 
years in the district school to the oldest student 
in college, every one has a molded and a molding 
influence for good or evil. 

Thoughtlessly the Prone boy entered Holly 
Academy to get his lessons, recite, and have a lot 
of lively, congenial companions about him. He 
had little or no thought that here his character 
would be largely formed for all the days of his 
life, and for the world to come. Just before he 
stepped into the wagon for his father to take him 
to Holly, his mother took his hand and said: 
" Now, my child, study well and keep good com- 
pany." A mother can speak such words as no 
other can. He received his good-bye kiss. Sitting 
by the side of his loved and loving father, the 
ride of nearly a whole day brought him to the 
academy. Memorable day ! Many were the words 
of good advice he received during that ride. The 

31 



32 DOWN GRADE. 

benefits and abuses of education were canvassed, 
and the influence of good and bad company was 
set forth by the sound utterances of a country 
farmer to a loved son. He felt their force and 
determined in the secret thoughts of his heart to 
keep good company at school. This was honest, 
and, as he supposed, a true purpose. Now the 
needed thing was firmness. 

Just after his trunk is unloaded, he sees the 
stranger boys along the walks and about the 
building. They, too, have come to school. That 
boy he first meets, just on the steps of the board- 
ing-hall, is Frank Wilton, from Downy. '' Are 
you going to attend school here?" asks Thomas. 
''Yes sir," is the reply. Frank appears well, yet 
the stranger from Darby knows nothing about 
him. One after another the boys rally and 
become acquainted with each other. It is easy 
to get acquainted at school, but the influence 
exerted is not so easily adjusted. Students lead 
each other; and it is an undeniable fact that, 
while some take an upright position and turn all 
their surroundings into a power for a good and 
prosperous life, others go downward and compel 
all their acquirements and advantages to act as a 
mighty engine to plunge them into the sad night 
of moral death. 

Thomas was invited into the students' prayer 



HIS COMPANY AT SCHOOL. 38 

meeting, which was appointed the first week of 
the term. There were only fifteen or twenty in 
attendance, but he rather enjoyed it. The prayers 
were fervent for God's blessing upon the whole 
school; for the teachers; that all the students 
might be Christians, and especially that the boys 
who had pious parents might be shielded from 
evil. This strengthened his purpose to be good ; 
and, had he continued these weekly opportunities, 
it might have been the fortune of his life and the 
eternal joy of his soul. When the hour for prayer 
meeting came the next week, he was playing ball, 
and thought he would not attend. In the game, 
the boys, of course, were a mixed company. Our 
friend did not like the profane and dissolute 
expressions, and almost wished he had gone with 
the praying ones. 

The next morning the leader of the meeting 
said to him, ''You did not come with us last 
evening; we had a most happy time." ''No," 
said the young man; "I could not come very 
well ; but I will try and come next time." Another 
week wedded him more than ever to the company 
of the prayerless students. It is quite easy to 
frame excuses from meeting with the prayer 
meetmg students, and indeed to shun their com- 
pany altogether. Thomas was faithful to his 
studies, but seemed to be quite thoroughly com- 



34 DOWN GRADE. 

mitted to the company which would not havc^ 
been selected for him by father, mother, or his best 
friends. He knew and felt most keenly that he 
was not taking the course that he should take. 
But it is so hard for young men to break associa- 
tions when once formed. And Thomas' case 
was no exception. The excellent letters of 
his mother, the good advice of his teachers, and 
the entreaties of the upright students failed to 
effect the change needed. He thought that if he 
guarded against things criminally wrong, his 
course and associations could not be very bad. 
But alas! As the kernels of corn lead the wild 
bird along into the snare, so the steps of sinful 
companions lead a boy to the saddest end. The 
people of Darby hoped much from their young 
townsman, and heard that he was a good scholar. 
But how often hopes are disappointed when 
they never should have been. 



CHAPTER VII. 

HIS MISTAKES AT SCHOOL. 

lie was a good scholar and always respected 
his teachers. This was commendable. And his 
desire was to win the respect and good will of all 
his fellow students. But many things which do 
not seem wrong in the life of a student, in later 
days, prove to have been actual mistakes. An 
education to be rightly directed should be conse- 
crated to the highest wisdom known to earth. 
And nowhere is this more apparent than in the 
lettered training of a young man of brilliant and 
promising talents. Such was this student from 
Darby, and here he made a mistake. He had heard 
of a young man who, on entering upon his studies, 
determined that he would lay every acquisition 
of knowledge on the altar of God, and he was 
impressed with the real wisdom of such a course. 
He knew full well that to pursue such a course would 
be like supplying a fine ship for a long voyage 
with good helm and chart. But inaction kept 
him from following up his true convictions. The 
saddest mistake in many a boy's life is that he is 
untrue to the honest convictions of his heart. It 

35 



36 DOWN GRADE. 

is true the natural heart is just what the Bible 
says it is, when it declares that " the carnal mind 
is enmity against God;" and there are but few 
boys impressed that it is best to do wrong. 

To do right is almost always the advice of the 
better judgment, and Thomas Prone had been too 
well trained at home to lack in this direction. He 
felt its force; yet to please the boys he would 
go astray. Conscience within and restraining 
influence without could not stop him. That 
Saturday afternoon when he consented to go 
out on Sunday, he took an ill step. It was but 
a little step it is true, but every large river has 
its starting point, and every great fire has a small 
beginning. His Sunday ride only kindled incen- 
tives to Sabbath breaking. He wanted to go 
again. And during the week he laid plans to 
spend the next Sunday in pleasure and pastime. 

One step leads to another. All such schools as 
the one at Holly have rules, strict rules, for 
hours of study, and retirement at night. This 
pupil had maintained marked integrity in observ- 
ance on these rules. But when, by a practice 
of deception, he had broken the rules of attend- 
ing church on Sunday, it was easy to break other 
rules. Hence it required but little temptation 
to neglect his studies in the evening and stay 
out late. And this would be sure to lead him 



HIS MISTAKES AT SCHOOL. 37 

into company not the best. Young men don't 
enjoy roving about nights, and often to a late 
hour, alone. He enjoyed company and would 
have it, and in his selection of associates he made 
a sad mistake. This was mainly in a lack of sense 
of moral integrity. ^-Evil communications cor- 
rupt good manners." There is not a thing in life 
which a young man needs at home, school, or 
elsewhere, more than companions whose words, 
actions, and influence are calculated to elevate 
good character. 

Another mistake he made was in neoiectino^ 
the Bible. His mother had taken good care to 
put a Bible in his trunk and charge him to 
give it daily attention. He did not heed the 
charge. Of all the books with students they 
should give some time, daily, to the One book. 
He knew that wonderful revelation, '-wliere- 
withal shall a young man cleanse his way? 
By taking heed thereto according to thy Word." 
His mother, in her excellent letters, would 
often ask about his gettings along, especially in 
reading his Bible. He would evade giving an 
answer. Another mistake. No boy at school 
can commit a greater error than to keep 
back his items of daily experience from his 
parents. Many a time Thomas was conscious 
that seeking to cover up his faults from his 



38 DOWN GRADE. 

parents was wrong. But as his course became 
more and more faulty, he was more and more 
loathe to let his parents know of his daily habits. 
What a record it makes, every line of which 
shall yet be read with sad regrets. A boat 
nearing the falls of Niagara was never in more 
danger than is a young man at school in with- 
holding his daily course from his parents at 
home. Could the Darby boy have realized this 
it might have saved him many a sad hour. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



HIS MORAL TENDENCIES. 



Never did a young man start out in the world 
with more light and knowledge as to right and 
wrong than this one. So strong had been the 
home influences and instruction that entwined 
about his every step, that the natural infidelity 
usual to such a youth had little place in his heart, 
or power over his life. To embrace hurtful 
doctrines and principles he must acquire them. 
But to ever let them get control over his life was 
farthest from his wishes. Yet, even with the best 
purposed boys, Satan has the most artful devices. 
And it is an old trick of the enemy of man to 
select the most brilliant youth for his ministers of 
sin. Is this young man to be one of them? 
Nothing could be farther from his thoughts. In 
his own mind he really supposed that his moral 
tendencies were upward and not downward. 

But how easy it is to take a wrong path, when 
we have ever so good a desire to go right. He 
would shudder at the very hint that he might go 
downward and lead others along with him. But 
there are h^lps enough for either course. No 

39 



40 DOWN GRADE. 

young man need lack for these, and he had them 
in abundance. Parents, home, the good influence 
of early years, many friends that loved him, 
besides the better dictates and noble impulses of 
his own heart, were all impelling him to acts and 
decisions for usefulness and happiness in the world. 
This was his tendency, and this was his hope. 
But these are times that take strong decision to 
stem the tide of dissipation and error. And the 
tendencies of this young man could not firmly 
remain in their present course without unreserved 
consecration to the right. And if he does not 
have this speedily, there will ere long be a change 
that will tell, and tell mightily, upon his whole 
course of life for this world and another. He 
need not plunge into crime at a single step to 
bring ruin upon himself; only to neglect to do 
what he ought to do is enough for the first step. 
Neglect has ruined many a young man, and made 
his end terrible. And it is to be feared it will do 
the same for many more. Is it not strange that 
so many boys of mind and intelligence, and who 
have line upon line of warning from many a trav- 
eler who has trod rough paths before them, will 
persist in the way of destruction ? But so it is. 
Just to neglect to give careful attention to the 
things which he knew were right was his bane. 
And thus he tended onward and downward 



HIS MORAL TENDENCIES. 41 

without the slightest idea of such an end. The 
day he met his friend Henry Arnold, from Darby, 
every moral instinct of his nature was aroused 
within him. Henry told him of the reform in his 
neighborhood, where so many had signed the 
pledge, and also many had been converted; and 
during this recital Thomas lived over all his boy- 
hood days. The good seed that had been sown 
in his heart was quick to prompt an earnest wish 
to be right with God and man. 

Now he could take a stand, and he knew it. 
His heart told him to do it. Noble impulses! 
Well had it been for him had he yielded to them, 
and followed their dictates. But he did not. 
And a man could not do a worse thing by will- 
fully putting out his eyes than did this youth in 
closing up the avenues of his heart in such an 
hour. 



CHAPTER IX. 



HE WEIGHS RELIGION. 



Man is a religious being. Never since his 
Maker said to him, ''Thou shalt ha\?e no other 
gods before me," has he been without a worship- 
ing heart. Some have aflBrmed and some have 
denied their obligations ; but this has not changed 
the nature of the case. 

The devout state of the Prone family truly 
represented the young man^of this narrative, who 
was so unsuspectingly traveling his downward 
course. Not a day passed but that he had 
thoughts upon religious subjects. Of course, a 
young man can never settle upon a belief, doctrine, 
or religious practice without calculating the right, 
and deciding upon it. Our young friend was too 
intelligent to overlook this important point. He 
considered the various schemes and doctrines of 
evangelical truth, and thought that he was quite 
well informed for one of his years. And really 
there can be no doubt that he had done well, as 
far as the intellectual was concerned. But as 
well might the wheels and machinery of the 
engine undertake to do good service without 

42 



HE WEIGHS RELIGION. 43 

steam rightly propelling inside, as a young man 
to have a correct religious life without the heart 
being right. He learned and believed that Chris- 
tianity means true life and action. He not only 
wisely considered orthodox creeds good, but 
believed their doctrines, carried out, to be a living 
power and not a dead form. There was not the 
slightest discount in his mind upon this fact. 
But young men's minds are active ; they can 
learn easier than unlearn. He had not fully 
understood this ; but it was true nevertheless^ 
and in nothing more than matters of religion. 
How could he obliterate the knowledge, or its 
force, which he had acquired of the geography 
of Africa, the figures of mathematics, or the rules 
of grammar ? He could not. No more could he 
the indelible impressions he had received about 
religion. But it is possible he may turn his good 
opportunities to a very bad account. 

Fine wheat which might have made excellent 
bread, can be turned into whisky, and thus 
become a very demon to destroy .^ So the very 
rehgious culture of his early years may now be 
perverted and become the enemy of his soul. 
There are always false doctrines ai hand that 
can be made to look very plausible^ which will 
give license to sin, and assure hope fpr good, 
even though it be a false hope. As a fine 



44 DOWN GRADE. 

garden may be easily run over with weeds which 
destroy the good vegetation, so Thomas could 
now consent to a false system of belief that 
would bear fruits of unhappiness and sorrow. 
And so, with what he thought was a good 
examination and a good conclusion, he was led 
wrongly ; and, as the boat once in the downward 
current is not easily stopped until it plunges into 
the whirlpool, so his religious conclusions led him 
toward the inevitable loss of his soul. 



CHAPTER X. 



HIS SERIOUS DECISION. 



Decisions are stubborn things, and especially 
with young men. Thomas Prone knew this. At 
least his experience and observation had taught 
him that when a young man said I will, or will 
not do a thing, he did not easily retract. This 
had its influence. And when taking steps which 
he knew were important he felt its power. 
Temptation, especially concerning religious decis- 
ion, lurked about him. It took a stronger hold 
upon him than he thought, though he felt its 
grasp. 

The investigations of the past days and weeks 
had stirred up his heart to feel that he must 
take a stand religiously. To decide adversely 
to the counsel and prayers of pious parents, 
the influences of a Christian home, and the 
dictates of honest convictions, he actually 
detested in his heart. But alas ! one book, good 
and true, of ancient origin has said, ''the heart 
is deceitful above all things, and desperately 
wicked " This proved a reality to him. And 

4§ 



46 DOWN GRADE. 

what a struggle he had with this most fearful 
of all facts ! All his early culture and the exami- 
nations he had lately made were barriers not easily 
overcome. But when the carnal heart is moved 
in a downward course, it is capable of almost 
any scheme of unbelief and evil. In spite of 
good impulses and desires it impelled him onward 
to the decisive step of unbelief. Yet just here 
he was checked. 

A letter from his mother, bears the best of coun- 
sel and advice. And, as one look upon the flowing 
river will carry thoughts to the boiling head foun- 
tains, so this letter carries his thoughts and heart 
emotions along over his youthful years to linger 
again at the family altar and happy home circle. 
Before he reads the letter through the tears are 
falling. He has a glimmering view of his care- 
less course. He reviews it a little, and sees that 
it has led him farther in the wrong path than 
he supposed. He sees at a glance where it would 
have been far better to have taken a different 
course. The doubts he has tried to entertain 
about the Bible now bear their legitimate fruit. 
The books he has read denying the divine reality 
of religion, are to him beds of thorns, while the 
infidel influences of wicked men have well nigh 
overwhelmed him. 



HIS SERIOUS DECISION. 47 

One beautiful morning he meets a Christian 
man wlio leads him into conversation. He enjoys 
the conversation because he sees in it some hope 
that he may be extricated from the meshes of 
unbelief which now seem to be the fastnesses 
of his soul. This man seems to apprehend the 
situation at once. He meets every argument 
squarely and plainly. But the flukes of an anchor 
never took stronger hold of the bed of the sea 
than does unbelief the natural heart whenever 
it makes its grasp. The young man listens. 
But while every word commends itself to his 
mind, his heart rebels against a decision for 
holiness. Thus he hears, considers, and stands, 
for a time. And while he fully knows that the 
Bible is the best guide-book a young man ever 
had, he attacks its divine truthfulness because 
he can not understand it all^ and because he 
thinks it does not harmonize in itself. 

Poor fellow ! He forgets that many a man has 
brought ruin on himself because he chose the 
dross of earth rather than pure heavenly gold. 
His Christian friend shows him that the best 
evidence that the Bible is divine, is that no finite 
mind can fully understand it, that it is a bless- 
ing to every one who accepts it, and that he 
had better receive it as he eats bread, using a 
little every day, and when his soul shall enlarge 



48 DOWN GRADE. 

into eternal day he will understand its myste- 
ries. But no. His propensities for sin declare 
that they want no religious restraints or priestly 
control. Fatal step ! Sad decision ! This is going 
from bad to worse. But the end is not yet. 



CHAPTER XL 



HIS MORAL POISON. 



He tries to entertain the notion that there is no 
hell in the future for the wicked. Sometimes he 
thinks he succeeds, and sometimes that such views 
are a mistake. But how little does he realize that, 
with rare exceptions, every moral impulse of the 
human family compels them to believe in the 
doctrine of future punishment. It is true that 
many argue against it, and he hears them, but 
while they are far from making out their case to 
others, they do not and can not believe it without 
one doubt themselves. Thomas knows what men 
who are true to God and his word say about it. 
And it looks clear to him that the holiness of 
God must embrace justice and mercy. And that 
every principle of divine love must utterly t:rbid 
the sinner to enter heaven without repentance 
and pardon. But to repent, to shun the pains of 
hell, is just what he has not done and is not will- 
ing to do. 

In looking for strength to bolster up his posi- 
tion, and have it well at the last, he finds men of 
some culture and standing to help him. But 

4 49 



50 DOWN GRADE. 

help is not always success, and plausible argu- 
ments are not always assurance. As easily can 
the doctrine of heaven be blotted from the Bible 
as the doctrine of a hell. So, also, could this 
young man as well succeed in an attempt to 
sweep the rolling waters from the bed of the sea 
as to rid himself of the impression of a future 
retribution. Yet in spite of this he endeavors to 
smother conviction and concur with the instincts 
of his depraved nature. And thus he declares he 
will not believe in eternal punishment of the 
sinner for the sins of this short life. But as well 
might he conclude that human law will not con- 
demn a man for the sin of killing his fellow, 
which took but sixty seconds, fifty years or a life- 
time in the state prison. Foolish, dreadful and 
fatal determination ! It is poison, and worse than 
poison, to his soul. 

How easy it is to put poison in the cup, but it 
is not so easy to cure a person after he has drunk 
it. And this disbelief in the doctrine of a hell is 
the quintessence of all unbelief, which orings 
disaster to life and ruin to the soul. There was 
something about this young man which made him 
dread the consequences of the condition into 
which he had cast his moral destiny. But it is of 
little use to regret having touched the incendiary 
match when the house is well nigh consumed. So, 



HIS MORAL POISON. 51 

many a man has cast the die in unbelief and sor- 
rowed in remorse when the fires of hell were 
well kindled about him. 

Better a thousand times not strike the match, 
and better a thousand times not decide against 
God's truth and his own soul. But so he did. 



CHAPTER XII. 



HE CONSIDERS BUSINESS, 



4( 



Shall I be a merchant, agriculturist, or 
mechanic?" said Thomas, as his thoughts glanced 
out into the future. This was no small question ; 
and, although at that moment it might be boyish, 
or a youthful thought, some time, if he lived, it 
must be settled. He can not always be an idle 
speculator about matters of life. Hence it is that 
he, at times, for hours so carefully surveys the 
different spheres of action. There are features 
of a farmer life that he likes. To be a mechanic 
is farthest from his wishes. The mercantile busi- 
ness attracts hun somewhat. At least, he has so 
much peculiar interest in this that he examines 
many of its successful and some of its unsuc- 
cessful features. He would like to be a grocer if 
he could get a start ; but to expect any material 
help from home is out of the question, and, as 
for himself, he has laid up no pennies. The dry 
goods trade favorably invites his attention. This, 
he thinks, will please his fancy ; but to get a 
position as clerk and work into the business 
seems to be the only feasible thing to do. Yet 

52 



HE CONSIDERS BUSINESS. 53 

even in this the way seems dark. Whatever he 
does, he is satisfied that he must make his 
position. No way being open in the line of dry 
goods, he wonders how the druggist's business 
would do. 

Just at this time a man who is going to start 
a store of this very kind at Brown's Station, 
hears that a young man by the name of Thomas 
Prone, from Darby, wants to get a situation in 
some kind of a store and learn the business. 
The next day a letter reaches our young friend, 
asking if he would like such a place, and if his 
habits as to profanity. Sabbath observance, keep- 
ing good company, etc., are correct. He is also 
asked if he can give good references as to moral 
character and sentiment. 

Now he begins to feel that to get along well 
in the world one needs substantial character. 
His recent religious speculations and conclusions 
do not help him much noWc Nevertheless, he 
succeeds in obtaining a few friends who get him 
the situation, but not exactly in a way to alto- 
gether satisfy his own conscience. What, shall a 
young man enter business with a smothered con- 
science, and as a cheat? Can he expect to suc- 
ceed? Hardly. But it is only for two months 
on trial. Is it anything strange that he thinks 
in half that time every wrong purpose, thought, 



54 DOWN GRADE. 

or act can be set right ? But he has not spent 
so many youthful years resisting appeals, en- 
treaties, advice, together with stern convictions 
for the right, to now, in a single hour or day, 
unlearn what he has learned, or undo what he 
has done. But he tries. He amends. He thinks 
he is succeeding ; and really there are times when 
his employer feels encouraged that he will make 
a good clerk and build up the business. Cer- 
tainly, things look hopeful; but how few know 
the struggles of this boy's breast in desire of 
the right ! Sometimes he thinks that he will 
succeed in establishing himself in the right ; but 
his way seems dark and forbidding. Hope against 
hope is now his experience. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



HIS WORLDLY CHARMS. 



These have no small hold upon a young man. 
If he is just clever, and a little stupid, the attrac- 
tive things of the world do not affect him so 
much. But if brilliant, pert, and attractive, he 
is just the one to be overcome with temptatiouo 
There are exceptions to this, of course. But 
Thomas had learned to be fond of society, gaiues, 
and worldly pastimes. Every instinct of his 
nature craved them. He hardly thought, how- 
ever, that they would ever control him to his 
injury. As the saying goes, " his wild oati must 
be sown." At least this was his notion; and 
like most young people, yes, and many old people 
too, he never had thought that in this respect 
like begets like. If we sow corn the harvest 
will be corn, if we sow wheat the hardest will 
be wheat, and if we sow wild oats the harvest 
will be wild oats. Could he have been instructed 
in this principle it might have led him differently. 
If rightly disposed, a young man cau as easily 
sow good seed as bad. 

Our friend need not have been an exception 

55 



56 DOWN GRADE. 

to this, in forming character for a good heart, a 
good life, and a good death. What, will Thomas 
Prone of Darby, with all his home culture, good 
advantages, and hallowed surroundings, make a 
mistake right here ? As soon might a man when 
lie had planted his beautiful garden with pota- 
toes, and beans, and peas, and onions, and beets, 
and strawberries, be suspected of sewing it all 
over with cockle and tares. Yet this is just 
what he did. Sad mistake ! Instead of a straight- 
forward, commending course of uprightness, his 
appearance at times was a little suspicious. He 
did not seem as faithful as he might. Young 
friends began to call at the store and take his 
time and attention when he should have been 
acquiring the confidence of his employers by 
industry. Now is the time for him to be faith- 
ful and get strong for business. Sunday comes, 
and his employer suggests the hour of Sunday 
school, and invites him to church and to sit in 
his pew. But he has another project in view. 
A few of his new acquaintances are going out 
to ride and he has promised to go along. This 
does not speak very well for the recommend 
that procured his situation. 

Still the druggist at Brown's Station is honestly 
anxious to see the young man come out right, 
and the clerk as honestly intends to do so. But 



HIS WORLDLY CHARMS. 67 

as well might a carpenter undertake to build a 
house without tools, as a young man to build up a 
good situation as clerk in a store without steady 
habits and honest integrity. The latter part of 
the second week he asks to be let off for the 
evening at eight o'clock. The dance gotten up 
by his newly found associates was well attended, 
a time of high glee and some dissipation withal. 
His appearance the next day did not indicate very 
strongly good rest and sleep the night before. 
Business suffered some. And this did not promise 
much for success in his two months' trial. 

Mostly his course indicated tact, aptness, and 
skill in the line of a business life. And had he 
given himself to his position with true devotion 
he would have succeeded admirably. But worldly 
associations, with the kindred habits of cards, 
ball clubs, theaters, and Sunday dissipation, were 
his bane. A healthy body must sooner or later 
yield to a constantly eating cancer ; so also must 
the promising prospects of a fast young man gi^e 
way to the cancerous gnawings of worldly impul- 
ses. Hence his trial time did not last two 
months. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



HIS VIEWS OF RIGHT. 



Boys often get very strange ideas of what is 
right and what is wrong. And this j^oung man 
took the position that he had a right to do as 
he pleased when his day's work was done, or 
when the Sunday came — that out of store hours 
his time was his own. He forgot that a business 
man has some interest in knowing whether his 
clerks take rest or dissipate when out of actual 
service, which would fit or unfit them for duty. 
Of course, no sane man of mature years would 
for a moment entertain the position of this young 
man. But young men have to live and learn ; 
and often they learn in various schools. 

When his trial in the drug store proved a 
failure, Thomas went home. He was frank 
enough to tell why he did not succeed, but 
equally earnest to maintain his right to do as he 
pleased when out of the store. Little did he 
think that this was only an incidental item in 
the category of his abused life. Men are not 
liable to wrong their fellows before they have 
wronged their Maker. He had been taught that 

58 



HIS VIEWS OP RIGHT. 69 

the first law of right is "to fear God and keep 
His commandments." Had he done this, his now 
perverted ideas of right, which are causing him 
much trouble, would have never entered his head. 
But he had become a Sabbath breaker, a little 
profane, and had begun to hold a loose rein over 
many sins that were making his days evil. 

His parents began to see the situation of their 
dear boy, but, although they were sorry for his 
troubles, he got no sympathy from them in his 
views. They repeated many of the lessons of 
his early instruction at home ; but he did not 
receive such words very kindly now. He had 
been to bad schools. Nights and days with profli- 
gate companions had told upon his growing years. 
He thought that he knew his rights, and he was 
going to maintain them — and that, even to the 
grief of his parents and friends. 

But a young man with such views and such 
a position could no more properly conduct him- 
self in life than the states' prison could reform 
a murderer. A few days at home softened down 
his feelings somewhat. He wished he was dif- 
ferent. His father could pray, his mother could 
sweetly counsel, and brothers and sisters could 
encourage him to do right ; but, while he still 
loved home, he was wedded to other scenes and 
other friends. He thought he ought to change. 



60 DOWN GRADE. 

but he did not ; he thought he was in danger, 
but did not get out of it. More and more his 
wrong views hardened his heart, and, as the log 
glides down the stream until it suddenly goes 
over the rapids, so he was passing along the 
current of time. 



CHAPTER XV. 

HIS PURSUIT OF ERROR. 

It matters little what the position of wrong 
doing is; when once taken, it is liable to be 
pursued. It is hard for thistle seeds to find a 
fruitful lodgment on a farm, but, when started, 
how soon they will overrun the whole field ! So, 
when a young man becomes poisoned with error, 
he consents to do or believe a wrong thing, and 
then "pursues it. If he steals, he does not stop 
with one act ; if he swears, a single oath is not 
enough ; if he disobeys his parents, once will not 
suffice ; if he disbelieves the Bible, he must avow 
it; if he scoffs at religion, the thing must be 
repeated ; and, if he is careless about his com- 
pany, like the floating logs in the river, he will 
find plenty on either side to impel him on. 

The Darby boy was subject to all this and 
much more. The huge rock in the ocean may 
stand the dashing of the waves, but he could 
not stand against this tide of error. Hence he 
pursues his course with no faltering step. Satan 
beguiles him, and false doctrines become the per- 
nicious fastnesses of his soul. With avidity he 

61 



62 DOWN GRADE. 

spurns every reformatory influence. Could he 
see himself as he really is now in the inmost 
inclinations of his soul, his cheek would tingle 
with blushing. But on he goes. The evil days 
have begun. As is the runaway horse when he 
starts slowly and with the finest carriage in town, 
so is he in his present course. All looks well, 
but the danger is imminent. His rein is loose; 
his heart is unchecked. 

He is not only wrongly directed about the 
truths of the Lord's word, but also about the 
best course of moral living. He finds few charms 
now in either literary or holy things. His heart 
is almost &et backward against the memory of 
better days. Right or wrong, he intends, at least 
in the main, to pursue his present course. Just 
here he procures some books that fan the flame 
already kindled in his heart. He does not read 
of faith, hope, love, charity, and prayer, and, 
above all, the blood of Jesus to cleanse the heart 
from sin ; but he does read about liberty of con- . 
science to do as one pleases, without any fear 
of God ; a sweeping opposition to the Church and 
Christianity; and a tirade against the Bible. Such 
reading is acceptable food for his demoralized 
condition. It pleases him and helps him on his 
course. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



HIS AFFLICTION. 



He is startled when the news reaches him that 
his sister Alice is very sick. '• Is she dangerously 
ill?" he asks the messenger. "I don't know 
exactly, the doctor was with her most of the day 
yesterday," was the reply. This pierced his heart 
with sadness. He had ardent love for Alice. In 
spite of his wayward course her prayers and love 
had a strong hold upon his heart. '' Wonder if 
she is really very sick ? What will I do if she 
should leave me ? It can not be possible that she 
will die before I get home. Wish I had not 
pained her so much by my wrong doing." These 
are the soliloquies of his heart. How changed 
are his feelings and every impulse of his moral 
nature at this afflicting news. He did not expect 
it. Had hardly thought such a thing were possi- 
ble. " How long ago was she taken sick, and 
does her fever run high?" he asks as he rides 
along. '' Three days ago she took her bed, but 
we did not think her very sick until we found her 
fever running exceedingly high yesterday morn- 
ing," is the reply. Thomas is moved to tears. 

63 



64 BOWN GRADE. 

His heart has not been so broken and melted for 
a long time. 

As he rides up to the door his brother Willie 
meets him and says, " Come in, Thomas, as quickly 
as you can, Alice is only just alive." He can not 
realize the situation, but with quickened step 
hastens to her bedside. What a change since he i 
last saw her. He bends over her wasting: form 
and imprints a kiss upon her fevered lips. She 
knows him and reciprocates. " You are very sick, 
sister." '^ Yes, brother, I am glad you got here, 
I shall not be with j^ou long, and I want you to 
prepare to meet me in heaven." She had been a 
sweet and happy Christian several years. Her 
influence over Thomas had been the best. But 
this is such an hour as he has not thought of or 
looked for. How these sisterly words from her 
dying bed take hold of his heart. He holds her 
hand as the tears trickle down both cheeks. He 
can not speak, for he has loved her tenderly. She 
is sinking fast. The family group stand around 
the bed with anxious hearts. They feel that their 
home will be without its charms when Alice is 
gone, and they can not give her up. But death 
lets go no grasp on account of ties of affection. 
She waves her hand and looks up with an angelic 
look, to give and receive the last parting, dying 
kiss. It is done, and she sweetly passes to that 



HIS AFFLICTION. 65 

land " where the wicked cease from troubling and 
the weary are at rest." 

He feels now that home is not wha.t it was. 
During the preparations for the funeral he is led 
to review former years and consider his present 
state of heart. The next morning at prayer 
every member feels most keenly that their home 
circle is broken. 

Thomas was never before so deeply impressed 
with the anxiety, the prayers, and the love of his 
home. This was a memorable season at family 
worship. Many of the morning cares are laid 
aside for funeral arrangements. The neighbors 
begin to come in to help in the necessary details 
and give their sympathy. The minister must be 
notified of the place and the hour of the funeral. 
Owing to Mr. Prone's official position, and being 
a man highly esteemed, it is thought best to have 
the funeral in the church. At three o'clock the 
lovel}^ Alice is carried from her home, now 
enshrouded in gloom and bereavement. The pro- 
cession is lono\ What sio^hs and sadness mark 
every feature of her young friends who follow the 
hearse. When the minister begins the address 
the eyes of Thomas, red with weeping, look 
earnestly up from that mourning group upon him. 
This is the first sermon he has heard in a long 
time. It sinks deep into his heart. He looks 



66 DOWN GRADE. 

first upon the coffin and then upon the minister. 
The sins of which neither his sister nor parents 
ever knew, rise up before him. The last look at 
that dear face beckons him heavenward. The 
coffin, the grave, and the last hours at home, as 
well as those memorable dying words, can not be 
forgotten. 

Just before returning, his sorrow stricken 
mother takes him aside for a word of conversa- 
tion and counsel. He partially opens his heart to 
her concerning his sinful course. He is willing 
to bow by her side. What a prayer ! A mother's 
prayer. " O God, bless my dear boy. He is the 
child Thou hast given me. I have loved him, and 
Thou hast loved him. He has been away, O Lord, 
and Thine eye hath seen every step of his course. 
Thou knowest all his ways, and can he not be 
saved from a sad end on earth, and the eternal 
loss of his soul ? Gracious Lord, I pray that ha 
may be. Alice is now gone. He will hear her 
voice and receive her angel letters no more. O, 
Lord, bless all she has ever done for him to save 
his soul, for Jesus' sake. Amen." 

Though he make his bed in hell, he can never 
forget this prayer. Here and now he resolves 
upon a better life. He purposes to reform in 
some things that he may meet his sister in heaven. 
But human resolutions without divine aid are 
men of straw. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



HIS TENDENCY TO CHANGE. 

Of course, under such circumstances, he must at 
least be inclined to a change in some way. The 
blackest catalogue of crime could not prevent this. 
His heart must be adamant for it to be otherwise. 
But what shall it be is the question. If it is 
effective and true it must be radical. Of course 
his former conclusions about a future state would 
bring sister and himself together in heaven, irre- 
spective of the sins or virtues of this life. 

No hell is the doctrine he has adopted. But he 
has been careful not to lisp this at home. He 
knew it would not find the slightest sympathy 
there. While it would please his state of heart, 
he could not get undoubted assurance of the truth 
of doctrine. He had thought this matter of 
belief was settled ; but the death of his sister 
brought to his view his false doctrine and evil 
course in a way he never saw them before. 
Young men never get settled in wrong belief and 
wrong actions. They try to be, but invariably 
fail. ,The very nature of the case forbids it. It 

67 



68 DOWN GRADE. 

would be as easy for water to run up hill as for 
conscience to permit such a thing. 

Loaded down with the weight of impressions 
received during the past few days, Thomas, with 
tender heart and good desires, set about righting 
himself. But he was morally blind. A depraved 
heart and wrong views of God and holiness had 
blinded the eyes of his understanding. It would 
be as easy for a fish to swim without water, or a 
bird to fly without wings, as for him to get 
right without seeking divine help. Pursuing his 
thoughts about the future state, he opens his 
long neglected Bible, that Bible that Alice had 
presented to him as a Christmas gift a few years 
ago. That she is now in heaven he has not a doubt. 
He reads about a new heart, a holy life, and hope 
as an anchor of the soul. He also reads, " Except 
ye repent ye shall all likewise perish;" and, 
" without the shedding of blood there is no remis- 
sion." And further in looking over the word of 
God his eye rests upon the case of the rich man 
and Lazarus. He reads it through. The poor 
man was carried by the angels heavenward. How 
iiis thoughts linger about the sweet and heavenly 
memories of Alice. She is there, his heart 
exclaims. He reads on. At a glance he sees the 
doom of the rich man. This is the Lord speaking 
to him. The experience of a lost soul has never 



HIS TENDENCY TO CHANGE. 69 

impressed him so before. He reads the account 
over and over again. It staggers his former con- 
clusions. He is ''almost persuaded." 

Never was he more deeply impressed with the 
realities of divine truth than at this hour. It is 
a golden moment for him for time and eternity. 
His tendency to change from bad to good, from 
the broad to the narrow way, was never so marked 
as now. It is doubtful if it will ever be again. 
The word of God now compels him to understand 
the radical necessity of right views of doctrine 
and a right state of heart for well being in this 
world and another, and he can no more shake 
off these convictions than he can live without 
breathing. 



CHAPTER XVm. 

HE MISTAKES HIS COURSE. 

In a long journey, finger-boards to point out 
the right road may be very useful. So a young 
man amid the avenues of life needs often to be 
pointed in the right way. When rightly directed 
he will do well if he take heed. No person ever 
more needed wise direction than did this young 
man in this hour of his great trial. If he can 
not now be guided aright, reformed, and saved, 
there is but little reason to hope for the future 
But as the traveler can easily read the right 
direction of the finger-board, and then shun 
the right road, so can Thomas reject the potent 
influences and instructions now used for his bless- 
ing. It is in this he makes one of the most vital 
mistakes of his life. Never before has his heart 
been so susceptible of truth, a right position, and 
a right course. The sickness, death, coffin, and 
funeral of our dearest and best friends do not 
often come to affect our hearts. He knew this, 
and did not wish to mistake their lessons. But 
how often just at the point of a wise decision a 
sad step is taken. 



HE MISTAKES HIS COURSE. 71 

Never was a newly plowed field more ready for 
the wheat-seed that would bring forth a goodly 
harvest, than was his heart to receive the good 
seed of the heavenly kingdom. But alas, when 
the field is plowed and mellowed, how quickly the 
wild grass and weeds will over-run it if it is not 
rightly improved. So with all the moral suscepti- 
bilities. Can it be possible that he can be beguiled 
into temptation in the midst of these teixcter scenes 
and keen convictions ? But young men are not 
saved easily, and especially when the strongholds 
of unbelief have served them as this one. He 
feels this. Former years had made him under* 
stand it as a living fact, yet he never realized it 
as now. The tacit decision of his heart now was 
to get right, live right, and end right. And this 
was fine. Of course the corn can not grow until 
the seed is planted. But it is one thing to put in 
the seed and quite another to care for the tender 
plant when it has sprouted. Thus he found it 
true in the purpose and development of a right 
state of heart. Good intentions could not be 
smothered long. They must soon come out or die. 

He found that the nature of man is such that 
"out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
speaketh." And in order to stand firm to his 
quickened determination he must speak it out, 
must confess it before his comrades. In this he 



72 DOWJN GRADE. 

made a mistake. Few noble young men make 
greater mistakes than are made at this point. 
Here he turned his course of thought, action, and 
destiny. On he went. Not exactly to plunge 
into the vortex all at once. No, no. It was but 
another step, the import of which he did not yet 
understand. It was only a step in the wrong 
direction, but that was enough for the present. 
The merchant need not neglect his store long to 
ruin his business, and the already kindled flames 
need not be long neglected to burn down the 
house. No more need Thomas long neglect to 
improve the favored opportunity, to bring upon 
himself impending ruin. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

HIS MISTAKE DISCOVERED. 

Seldom are mistakes discovered until after they 
are made. When a young man wishes to do a 
thing that looks at least plausible, he is loathe to 
believe that it is unwise. And to desist is almost 
out of the question. Our friend was no marked 
exception to this rule. And when he had done a 
wrong thing it was no easy thing to convince him 
of his error. He held to his position tenaciously. 
And even when there was evidence of his mis- 
take and the evil of his course, he did not want 
to stop if he could find any reason to justify him 
in it. 

What is told to young men of their sins is not 
very convincing. A thief does not like to be told 
that he is a thief ; a liar that he tells lies ; an 
incendiary that he set fire to the house ; or a 
libertine that he is an adulterer. He covers up 
his sins if he can. What, let them be brought to 
the light? No, not he if he can help it. 

It is true this profligate, sorrow stricken boj^ 
may not have been guilty of any of these debas- 
ing crimes. But the plague of his life since he 

73 



74 DOWN GRADE. 

left home was, covering up secret sins from his 
parents, sisters and brothers. Home influence is 
often a sharp detective. And especially in such 
an event as the death of Alice. Conscience can 
not sleep now. None can know this more fully 
than Thomas Prone. And when he lets slip the 
reformatory hours and influences of the past few 
days, he becomes more and more alive to his 
situation. It may have been pardonable in past 
days to carelessly err to his injury, but now with 
all the light and knowledge which surround him, 
his mistake of unbelief and sin seems unpardona- 
ble and almost suicidal. He has come to a time 
when no easy apology for wounding his own heart 
or marring the happiness of his parents and 
friends is satisfactory. His sins have found him 
out, his friends are alarmed, and he must acknowl- 
edge to himself, at least, that dangers of almost 
every conceivable kind lie just across his path. 

For a long time he has been more or less appre- 
hensive that his course was a dangerous one. 
Now he sees it, and decides that the chances to 
hope for its improvement are against him. The 
late opportunity was gone. The door had been 
opened wide. The news of his sister's sickness ; 
her death; the funeral; his mother's prayer ; a 
tender heart ; the divine spirit of God ; and his 
half-purpose to reform, were all conducive to his 



HIS MISTAKE DISCOVERED. 75 

help and blessing. Never before in his wicked 
ways did he have such a check and such an oppor- 
tunity. But his heart is measurably hardened, 
and he is again in the meshes of unbelief and sin. 
He discovers his mistake, but almost feels that it 
is too late to correct it. If he amends where 
shall he begin ? Many a young man misses some 
golden opportunity to be good. He did. The 
best chances of life, for moral, commercial, and 
literary standing, are often saved or lost by a 
single step. But how sad, when this youth was 
surrounded by parental love and counsel; the 
prayers of a dying sister, the sound of which had 
hardly died away ; and the choicest impulses of 
good desires in his own heart, that he should per- 
sist in the dark way. But so it was, and may his 
course be an effectual warning to others. 



CHAPTER XX. 



In his school days Anna Doty was a classmate. 
She was a girl of rare brilliancy and good heart, 
and exerted an excellent influence over her youth- 
ful associates. Thomas admired her. He knew 
that soon after finishing^ her education she married 
and settled in a distant city. And although he 
had not forgotten her, he had lost all trace of her 
whereabouts. One day he unexpectedly met her 
on the street, but he recognized her at once. She 
was visiting her uncle. The meeting seemed to 
be a mutual pleasure. After a moment's conver- 
sation she invited him to call at her uncle's that 
evening. This pleased him, and he determined 
to go. But what should be the topic of conversa- 
tion, and what account should he give of himself, 
was the question. He knew he would be deeply 
interested to learn of her home, her family, and 
her experience during the years since they last 
met. She might ask where he had been, what he 
had been doing, and how he had gotten on in life. 
And above all she would want to know about the 
death of Alice. He knew that he could easily 

7tt 



HIS FRIEND S ADVICE. 77 

keep from her his hidden sins that had debauched 
and well nigh ruined him : and he was glad he 
could tell her that he was not intemperate but 
had led a sober life. 

Early in the evening he called. His friend met 
him with a warm welcome. Mrs. Dennis had not 
changed much from her amiable and attractive 
manner as his school friend Miss Anna Doty. 
Her interesting conversation and inquiries soon 
called up the scenes and memories of other days. 
After a long detailed account of his sister's death, 
the home changes, and his last visit, matters 
became personal. His friend recited to him the 
way the Lord had led her ; the good home He had 
given her ; something of her religious experience, 
and her present happiness ; all of which stirred 
his heart to its depths. In the light of this, how 
much of beauty and satisfaction he could see in a 
good life. '' Why could not I have taken this 
course ? " he said within himself. How good 
impulses will come to the surface when they have 
a chance ! He really felt that he wanted to open 
his heart to Mrs. D. and tell her all. But this he 
had never done to any one, and he had not the 
courage to do it. She however began to see her 
opportunity to do good, and she applied herself 
with avidity to the work. 

^' Come, Thomas, I have given you an outline 



78 DOWN GRADE. 

of my experience, now tell me yours." He was 
ashamed to do so. " O that I had taken a right 
course," was the secret thought of his heart. 
But he ventured to tell her much of his down- 
ward career, and his repeated desires and efforts 
to change. She said, " You can." But he replied, 
" I don't see any way." " Shall I advise you ? " 
asked his friend. " I wish you would," he replied. 
At the same moment he had little hope, but he 
was willing to listen to her advice. She advised 
him to write down every evil path and habit as 
fai as he knew, and then stop at once at every 
dangerous turn. She urged that he immediately 
drop all his associates, and begin anew in every 
respect. Of course this looked reasonable to him, 
and he wanted to do it. But while it was pos- 
sible it was not probablec She pleaded with him, 
in view of all that was good for himself in this 
world and another ; in view of the love of parents ; 
the respect of his friends, and, above all, the 
memories of his darling sister. He thanked her 
earnestly, and bid her good night. 



CHAPTER XXT. 

HIS HABITS AGAINST HIM. 

He had learned by sad experience that a shuttle 
could as well weave without motion as a man 
could live without forming habits. Habits are a 
power, whether for good or evil ; and they are not 
easily acquired, neither are they easily removed. 
Few, however, are aware of this fact until a living 
experience teaches them its true character. Our 
young friend had carelessly allowed himself to 
think that all acts were incidental ; that to do a 
thing or not to do it was merely a matter of the 
moment ; that habit, whatever there might be to 
it, was a creature of easj^ control and guidance, 
rather than an almost unmanageable power upon 
the whole being. He found that the hidden 
steam of the engine could not generate a more 
uncontrollable force than could habit upon the 
actions of human life. Most men have to live 
many years before they learn this. He did not. 
He was told it in time to escape many of the 
evils of habit which now held him as with a lion's 
grasp. But as to the best way of living, young 



80 DOWN GRADE. 

men do not like to be told. They generallj^ 
think they know it all. Few are willing to learn 
in the school of friendly advice until, like a wild 
horse, they are fully subdued by bitter experience. 

Sometimes, as was the case with our young 
friend, their eyes are opened, or, at least, they 
are willing to open them, when it is too late to 
learn. He saw his condition, deplored it, but felt 
compelled to act upon the principle that there is 
always hope as long as there is life. Many a sick 
man has thought he was getting better when 
disease was exhausting his life more and more, 
and becoming worse and worse every hour. Of 
course, Thomas had a commingled hope and desire 
that these habits of false doctrine, unbelief, bad 
company, neglect of the Bible, a prayerless state, 
profanity, disregard of parental love and advice 
— of a sister's dying prayer — of his late friend's 
advice — procrastination, and all his combined 
habits that he knew were evil, would yet turn 
some way in his favor. 

As well might he hope to create a world. 
Habits hold with a firm grasp. They do not 
change. They will turn in his favor when he 
turns them, and not till then. Alas, that when a 
man sees a habit, or a number of them, destroying 
him, soul and body, he does not banish them^ 



HIS HABITS AGAINST HIM. 81 

or tear away from them, and forever escape ! 
Thomas might have done it long since, and might 
do it now ; but he only fears and hopes. Satan, 
bent on his ruin, beguiles and leads him on. 

6 



CHAPTER XXII. 

HIS LACK OF COURAGE. 

Most young men lack the right kind of courage 
Many have courage to do wrong, but few have 
courage to do right. To stand up for principles 
and practices, noble and true, requires mettle 
of a godlike character. Daniel the prophet had 
this. Kings, nobles, or princes could not turn 
him to do what he believed to be wrong. Can it 
be possible that our noble young friend, with all 
his admirable traits of character lacked this? 
Many of the finest young men of the country fail 
just here. And really, if the truth were known, 
this was the secret of his downfall, the verj^ bane 
of his whole life. It was not so of a necessity. 
He allowed it to be so, perhaps from culture, per- 
mit, or careless neglect. Few men are born moral 
cowards. It is true that the seeds of sin and 
trangression are born in every man. And actual 
sin always brings shame ; and shame cowardice, 
and cowardice disgrace, and disgrace ruin. 

But no ship ever supplied more amply life 
preservers against the storm, than has our 
Maker furnished a safeguard to man against this 
impending danger. Let any youth, at the begin- 

82 



HIS LACK OF COTJRAGE. 83 

ning of early, active life, start with determined 
integrity for the right, and he will soon be bold as 
a lion. Well has God's holy record declared, 
"the wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the 
righteous are bold as a lion/' The experiences of 
the ages has proved this a stern reality and living 
fact. It might have been the grand and com 
mendable life portion of Thomas this very hour, 
instead of the dark time to which he has come- 
He feels it, and cries, '• I might have escaped 
this!" When one gets into trouble and is sinking 
amid the dark breakers of sin, it is easy enough 
to tell what might have been done. Can not our 
friend, who is wrecked and so sad, teach others, and 
be a warning them ? We hope he will, and cause 
many to take a different and better way than he 
has traveled. Everj^ body knows that it is com- 
paratively eas}^ for a young man to squander a 
legacy of a hundred thousand dollars from a good 
family estate, but it is no more easy than to abuse 
and waste a moral heritage from noble parents. 

This he had. In moneyed resources his parents 
were well to do, though not wealthy. But none 
could have a better standing in courage and moral 
worth. And this son had the best chance in the 
family. Sad, indeed, that he should throw it to the 
winds. Must he go down in everlasting darkness 
and disgrace ? It looks like it. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



HE CAN NOT SAY NO. 



ftow few young men learn the art of rendering - 
ftv'cision against evil at the right time and in the 
right place. He had never done this He had, 
at times, after taking a false step, thought, ''I 
might have said I can not do it." But it is of 
little use to lock up the stable after the horse is 
stolen. And after-thoughts seldom help a young 
man in an upright life. The day Harry Miller 
met Thomas, ought to have been an eventful one 
for good in this matter. Harry had been his 
neighbor and schoolmate several years before, and 
had not been entirely ignorant of his faults and 
danger. He was glad they had met again. And 
as the turn of chance would have it, Harry had 
that verj^ morning had an interview with a young 
man who had studied this whole matter, and con- 
cluded that the best place and time for a young 
man to say No is when at first tempted toward the 
dangerous path. This view so accorded with 
his own feelings that they had a long talk. He 
repeated it to Thomas, and told him that the 
correct way is not to take the first step. 

84 



HE CAN NOT SAY NO. 85 

" But, Harry, don't you know a young man 
must have some fun? " 

•' Yes, but it is not needful for him to put him- 
self in the way of injury to gratify a notion of 
sinful pleasure." 

"What is sinful pleasure?" 

" It is indulging in any thoughts or actions that 
we are aware will harm us, yea, more, that we are 
aware will do injury in any way, or to any person. 
And when it is even suggested to us to do such 
things, we should say iVb, at once." 

*' Well, if that is true, I have missed it many a 
time." 

'' I should not be surprised ; and perhaps that is 
one prevailing cause that has brought you where 
you now are. Suppose you had fixed a principle 
on starting in life, that j^ou would say No to every- 
thing that your judgment told you was wrong." 

''I wish I had." 

" Of course you can see now that it would 
have been much better." 

'' Yes, Harry, I now see that it would, and 
really jon have led me to see one of the secrets 
of my folly." 

'' Your folly ? Do I understand you to admit 
that you have been going wrong, and are doing 
so now? " 

" You do, and I have long been conscious of it.' 



86 DOWN GRADE. 

'' Well, Thomas, when there is confession of 
wrong and a desire to do better, the battle of 
reform is half fought." 

" It may have been so with others, but it is not 
so with me. I have had these for a long time, 
but to get out of the meshes of my downward 
course seems almost impossible." 

" Don't you think if you were tempted to-day 
to do what you knew was wrong you could say No, 
and avoid it? " 

" Well, if I was tempted to murder any one, or 
commit a dreadful outrage, of course I could. 
Or, if I was urged to drink liquor (as I have 
never taken a glass), I suppose I could. But 
these have never troubled me. It is other sins, 
that I know are moral evils in society, that crush 
almost every moral principle out of me." 

" Well, do you really think it is impossible to 
take position now ? " 

^ado." 

"• Really, do you think your case as hopeless as 
that?" 

" Why shouldn't I think so ? I have tried so 
often and failed. And it certainly is no use." 

By this time Harry's heart was touched w4th 
the deepest pity. He feared that his friend might 
be hopelessly lost. And there was reason for his 
fear. 



HE CAN NOT SAY NO. 87 

When a young man is first tempted to play- 
cards, he should say No. 

When he is first tempted to disobey his parents, 
he should say No, 

When he is first enticed into company that he 
mistrusts is not right, he should say No. 

When away from home and tempted to keep 
any plans away from his parents, he should say No. 

When tempted to any scheme that has the sem- 
blance of gambling, he should say No. 

When there is the slightest inclination to swear, 
he should say No. 

When he is asked to neglect the Bible, he 
should say No. 

When he is asked to neglect attending church, 
he should say No. 

When he is asked to make Sunday a pleasure 
day, he should say No. ■ 

When asked to enter into any thing that his 
enlightened conscience can not approve, he shoulcj 
say No. 

These and many other seemingly small matters 
had been entered into by Thomas, until all com- 
bined they had become like leeches on his moral 
nature. Now he could review much better than 
amend. Too late, too late ! was the piercing 
thought of his soul. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



HE SAYS YES. 



"Yes" is about the first word a boy learns to 
use ; and, without clear discrimination and wis- 
dom, it is one of the most dangerous in boyhood 
days and with young men. When there is a call 
to give assent to any sentiment, be it right or 
wrong, one so dislikes to disagree with his fellows* 
It is usually easier to say Yes than to say No ; and 
when one or a number of persons urge to a 
course of action, it is harder for one to refuse 
than to comply. This is emphatically true of 
young men, acting singly and alone or in concert. 
Usually they are fond of pleasing each other. 

Although Thomas was regarded as a kind of 
leader in the starting days of life, he was quite 
inclined to this sort of cowardice. He could con- 
trol the boys any time, and he knew it. Yet, 
water never ran down hill more readily than, 
when the boys were together, one would suggest 
something and all the rest, one after the other, 
would fall into line. This is an emphatic way 
of saying Yes. 

There is poison in this cup, but he does not 

88 



HE SAYS YES. 89 

know it now. He will learn it in days to come, 
and when the days are evil. Can a gin be set 
and there be no danger ? Can a hand be put in 
the fire and not be burned ? Can a dagger be 
plunged into the heart and not kill ? Can a habit 
of evil be repeated and no harm be done ? As 
he becomes fond of society and of pleasing his 
friends, he becomes more and more susceptible of 
this one thing. He is too easily led ; and when 
he is asked to believe a thing, he says Yes, 
whether he believes it or not. So, often when 
he is urged to do a thing, he says Yes, and does 
it, even if he disapproves it, and knows that it 
will be to his hurt. Sometimes he says, ''It is 
only a trifle, and will soon be among the things 
of the past, and will never be known in the 
future." 

No ! no ! Such logic will not stand the test. 
This is a bad school to go to. Years roll on, and 
he finds it very congenial to every new-formed 
acquaintance to say Yes. He does it whenever it 
will serve his convenience. He knows all about 
its joys and its sorrows. Few can balance them 
in the true scales of warning or commendation 
better than he. While he is thinking of the 
course of his life in this respect, a young lady 
friend, Mary Wilson, asks: 

"What is it, Thomas?" 



&0 DOWN GRADE. 

" It is that awful word Yes^ that has been my 
life's bane," he replies. 

" What do you mean ? " 

'' Well, ever since I was a boy, I have been so 
addicted to saying Yes whenever a friend wanted 
me to think or do as he did, that I just live to 
please my worldly associates." 

'^ And you think this is wrong, do you ? " 

" I know that it is." 

^' Then, you would not advise others to do as 
you have done?" 

" No, indeed, I would not." 

'' Well, Thomas, that is worth something to the 
world. You know that young men dislike to take 
advice from old men ; but you are young, and 
perhaps you can help others to do better. 

" Then, if you had a friend who was asked to 
go with bad boys, you would not advise him to 
say Yes?" 

" No, I would not." 

'* If he were asked to play billiards, should he 
say Yes?" 

''No." 

"If he be urged to treat religious questions 
lightly, should he say Yes ?" 

''Never." 

" If he is asked to read books of bad tendency, 
should he say Yes ? " 



HE SAYS YES. 91 

'' By no means." 

" If he should be asked to engage in business 
that would involve him in bad associations and 
habits, ought he to say Yes ? " 

" Certainly not. Now, Mary, I see what you 
are coming to. Your heart is full of good desires 
for my welfare, and for all over whom I have an 
influence. You certainly comprehend the situa- 
tion ; and, although you have more hope for me 
than I have for myself, I fully appreciate your 
longing desires that I endeavor, from my sad 
experience, if possible, to turn others from paths 
of sin and folly. 

'' Well, whether I am saved or lost, I will 
promise you I will do this : and, by all means, I 
would say to every young man, when he is called 
upon to enter into any scheme, or to do any thing, 
or believe any thing, that his own conscience and 
principles of right can not approve, ' don't say 
Yes, even though it may sometimes appear rude, 
or cost you the sacrifice of warm friendly attach- 
ment.' Better a thousand times had I done this, 
and I am satisfied it will be vastly better for all 
my young friends whatever shall now become 
of me." 



CHAPTER XXV. 



HIS SUNDAYS. 



His views of God's commands, and a desire for 
independent thought and action have so per- 
verted his ideas of goodness that Sunday has come 
to be a holiday to him. True, he can not rid 
himself of the power of early instructions, or the 
convictions of his better judgment about Sabbath 
breaking ; but this does not matter much now. 
So many steps have been taken which never 
should have been, that this is of small consequence. 
There was a time when Sunday desecration by 
him was seldom engaged in; he was usually at 
church. The day was turned into an advantage 
for good. Better by far had he continued thus ; 
but now it is his best day of profligacy and sinful 
folly. He dotes on some scheme of gain and 
wicked pastime for Sunday ; it is his day of sen- 
sual gratification ; it is now no uncommon thing 
for some gambling scheme to be on foot. 

Young men are often allured into some club- 
room or retired place to play cards and other 
games; they do not intend to gamble when they 
begin, it is only a pastime ; but one wrong step 

91 



HIS SUNDAYS. 93 

leads to another, and so chance games are intro- 
duced. It is so with Mm. How changed now 
from the noble boy he was a wiiile ago. It is true 
that little drops of water make the ocean, and so 
little steps and acts, good or evil, soon form a good 
or bad character. 

It is a beautiful Sunday morning, and a few of 
the boys have joined him in an engagement to go 
over to the Corners and see Joe Burns. They 
know^ what they will do and how they will do it. 
Joe will have his room, some cigars, and the cards 
all ready. Thomas is "eager for the fray;" but 
in this as well as other days, conscience works. 
It matters not to him, if his pious father and 
mother are sitting in church at Darby and can not 
see him ; if Will Jones, his converted companion, 
Anna Dennis, his schoolmate adviser, and Mary 
Wilson, who longs to see him a better young man, 
are all ignorant of his day of sin. God looks 
down into that room and sees all that is done at 
the Corners. Yea, conscience sleeps not, but in 
it, while the cards are shuffled, he visits in hallowed 
memory father and mother, lives over Will's calls 
for him to repent, and the talks with Anna and 
Mary about doing better. The consciences of 
young men are alive, and none know this better 
than he. As the money changes hands, first win- 
ning and then losing, he tries to throw off every 



94 DOWN GRADE. 

compunction of conscience — he can not do it. 
Few may know of that debauching Sunday, but 
God knows, and he knows of it, and it will bear its 
fruit. 

How few young men realize the sad influence 
accruing from careless Sabbath desecration. He 
had no thoughts of ever reaping such a harvest 
from such a course. So, putting away the evil 
days, he multiplies these forms of dissipation. A 
ride with two or three couples is arranged for the 
next Sunday, to the village of Stony Brook. His 
purse is low. Although he has not been in this 
store but a few weeks, he manages after a good 
Saturday trade to take a few dollars from the 
drawer. Satan tells him that they will never be 
missed; but if the proprietor does not miss the 
money, Thomas will not miss the sad influence of 
the crime. It is only a step, but every step helps 
on the journey. It is a clear bright morning ; the 
girls are ready, finely dressed and full of glee. 
What a contrast to the calls of divine wisdom, 
''remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." 
How could they expect any thing but cursings. 
They ride along, and to all appearance have not 
the slightest regard for the sanctity of the day. 
Why should they ? It is not a day of any sacred- 
ness to them ; they will not allow it to be. Thomas 
is foremost in giving a sacrilegious tone to every 



HIS SUNDAYS. 95 

Step and every act. Already the pilfering of the 
drawer the night before is having its reckless, not 
to say criminal, influence. The lemonade, fine 
dinner, and lavish serving are freely talked of. 
''I guess we can have a good time once in a 
while," he says. It is a high day to the whole 
party. This is only one Sunday, yet it is something 
of a sample of nearly every one of the year. 

Monday morning he shows signs of dissipation 
and exhaustion. He does not take hold of work 
vigorously as if he had enjoyed a day of rest ; 
and, withal, he has some shamefacedness about 
something. What it is nobody knows but himself 
and his God. He is thinking about the money 
stolen from the drawer. How different in strength, 
health, a clear conscience, and above all, an unsul- 
lied reputation, would he have been had he been 
among the good and the upright. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

HIS SECULAR DAYS. 

Mostly they are engaged in some business capa- k 
city. Of course he has to make his living in some 
way. And then, to give attention to his friends 
and associates requires considerable money. To 
obtain this, he must work, steal, or gamble. Either 
of these ways is resorted to as best suits his con 
venience. Have the money he must. His clerk- 
ship affords a fair revenue, and is a cloak to cover 
up the income of theft and gambling. It is easily 
seen that he is now strongly wedded to a large 
circle of worldly and dissolute friends. Friends, 
did I say ? He calls them such ; and they will be 
steadfast in every appearance as long as he has 
money, and can serve them in a popular way, but 
no longer. This has been tested over and over 
again. How many a young man has been petted, 
coaxed, and cheered on until detected in crime. 
Then who stands by him ? Who comforts, lifts 
the stain from his character, and delivers him 
from the snare in which he has been caught? 

Amid all the cares of business Thomas is busy 
in planning schemes of such dissolute companion- 

96 



HIS SECULAR DAYS. 97 

ship and character as must inevitably be to his 
hurt. Little does his employer understand the 
force and nature of the situation. He keeps his 
business hours quite well. But how easy to meet 
his fellows at billiards soon after the store is 
closed. This, he feels, is dangerous, especially in 
one respect : Almost all billiard rooms have a bar 
right along side. He has never yet, with all his 
sins, yielded to the sin of strong drink. But he 
knows that this is a stronger temptation than he 
can long withstand. At least he fears it. He has 
many times thought of this, and dreads intem- 
perance more than all the faults of his life. He 
can cover up almost any other sin, but this would 
soon out. He would lose his situation ; his name 
would be published in infamy as never before ; his 
days and nights would be filled with sorrow as he 
never knew them, and his mother, from whom he 
has hid most of his course until now, would go 
down with a broken heart to the grave. 

He changes matters a little. He induces his 
young friends to get up dances, parties, and gath- 
erings, to meet and accommodate the clerks after 
the stores are closed. This takes finely for a tim^. 
The young people adjust matters now for a good 
time nearly every night. This costs money, but 
the boys can attend to that matter. If he lacks 
a little in his part, he knows the way to the 



98 DOWN GRADE. 

drawer; he has been there before. No studeiiu 
ever went through college and graduated more 
really than this young man is passing through a 
school, learning sad lessons ; and to graduate in 
infamy. 

Many a boy in business takes a different course. 
It is grand to see a clerk doing v^-ell, and being 
well commended. There is good hope for him. 
He intends to have a library, and saves every loose 
penny for this object. And while collecting it 
he reads it, and stores his mind with knowledge. 
He is bound to have a good name, and makes it. 
He has about him friends who are really worth 
having. There comes a time when the young 
man of this narrative understands and appreciates 
this. But he is left out. Despised and rejected, 
he is weary and sad. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

HIS VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 

These were such as are common to such 
persons. He entertained scattered notions of 
happiness. But how vague, how selfish, how 
mistaken and unsatisfactory ! They were entirely 
undefined, even to his own mind ; and to his 
friends he could not even give a distinct idea that 
he had any aim or purpose, or any showing of 
steadfastness in principles of true happiness. So 
it is with very many people. They rely upon the 
incidental things of life to satisfy the moral crav- 
ings of their being. They have never learned 
that their Creator has made ample provision for 
true, constant, and complete happiness, and that 
men everywhere can know it. In the course of 
his life Thomas Prone had heard it in theory, but 
had never sought or accepted it as a personal 
experience and soul portion. No wonder he is by 
and by found in hell. He is going thitherward. 
If a man travels a certain road, what can he 
expect but to go to the destination to which that 
road leads. This must be the inevitable result. 
How could he expect to go to heaven when he 



100 DOWN GRADE. 

had been traveling in the opposite direction all 
his life ? 

Happiness, true happiness, he could not find in 
the pursuits to which he was accustomed. His 
thoughts and belief of daily experience in happi- 
ness could not settle his heart in permanent good 
for himself or others. The real happiness his 
nature craved he failed to obtain, because of the 
sources from which he sought it. Catering to 
worldly sources that stirred up the baser passions, 
worldly company, the card table, the giddy 
dance, the unhallowed associations of evil com- 
pany, the counsels of the profligate, and all that 
sin and sinful inclinations love, he could not hope 
for an upward blessing. No, no. It is folly for 
men to think of finding happiness when they seek 
it where it is not. And when a young man 
expects to find happy walks, happy company, and 
happy experiences, when he goes only in the path 
that ends in misery, he must expect to fail. 

Thomas knew only what it was to look forth 
amid almost countless numbers of schemes for 
pleasure and gratification. Gratification, did I 
say ? Yes. It is just that and nothing more. No 
real satisfaction. Worldly pleasure seekers know 
this. There is, in every scheme of this world, a 
full knowledge and experience of this. He had 
learned it. And he was still learning. As the 



HIS VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 101 

oak starting from the acorn is ever growing, and 
sending forth new branches to change and die ; 
as the orchard is filled with trees of beautiful 
foliage and tinted leaves, and fruit attractive to 
the eye and sweet to the taste, only to fade, fall 
and decay ; so he found every source of worldly 
pleasure, only able to charm for the hour, and 
utterly fail of giving lasting happiness. 

There were times when he would inquire 
within himself, is there nothing better? Of 
course his better education and the godlike sur- 
roundings within liis reach helped an affirmative 
reply. 

But with all this he had plenty about him to 
practically spoil this conclusion. The young did 
it. The old did it. The foolhardy habit of 
coveting much wealth, embracing fine man- 
sions, fine riding turnouts, fine possessions, much 
of worldly friendship, honors, fame, and indeed 
all that accompanies the wealth that perishes, 
was good in appearance to him. He did not stop 
to consider that, after all, this is but a source of 
misery as well as happiness. How easy, had he 
been disposed, could he have understood that one 
miofht have all these, held and viewed in a true 
light, and looking to the right source for full sat- 
isfaction, be supremely happy. But he saw the 
young people in their glee, and stumbled over 



102 DOWN GRADE. 

their perverted notions. Youth is the glee time 
of life, not necessarily sinful glee, but the good 
and hearty elevated life that starts one right for 
this world and another. This he had ample 
opportunity to learn, but he spurned all. He was 
blind to every avenue leading aright. His tastes 
were perverted, and his heart was set against 
God-given happiness. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

HIS OAENAL HEART. 

Of this he has no conception. Most people 
never think their heart is any thing but good. 
Many are the claims made for a good heart when 
there is little foundation for it. But he came in 
for a share in the usual stock of human nature. 
The guilt of the misdoings of the heart is often 
placed anywhere but where it should be. Wrong 
motives, inclinations, and purposes, are attributed 
to almost any thing but a bad heart. He either 
did not know this, or did not stop to think about 
it. Yet the heart works, rightly or wrongly, all 
the time, whether we think about it or not. A 
living fountain could as easily exist without send- 
ing forth its stream of water as the heart without 
its force of living actions. Every young man 
finds this true. Find fire without heat, steam 
without force, or wind without air, if you can ; 
but no young man lives whose heart can not feel 
and do right or wrong. To this the downward 
course of this young man fully attested. It was 
this that fitted him to do just as he did in every 
adverse step and act. Had his heart been differ- 

103 



104 DOWN GRADE. 

ently turned as he left home and entered upon the 
weighty duties of life, it would have been far 
better. He really knew no bounds to the 
unbridled state of a heart uncultured in good 
motives and actions. Hence he did what he 
wanted to do, if it was not a flagrant crime. 

There was no check or restraint upon his 
wishes to do evil, save the watchful eye of human 
vigilance. He could hear oath after oath of pro- 
fanity, see the dissolute course of comrades, enter 
the throng of fellows of the baser sort, learn of 
the downfall of companions in sin, and have full 
knowledge of crime about him, without its arous- 
ing his pity or disgust. What *i state of heart. 
If asked his opinion about such things, he might 
say, "I would not like to do them myself," but 
at the same time he had too much relish for the 
like. Better that a young n^an have his heart so 
cultured that he utterly de^^ests such things, than 
that he fall heir to millions. 

There can be no question of this. And as the 
ore produces the metal for gold coin, so it is the 
heart, melted, toned, and shaped, that makes the 
true man. He had not this. The melting and 
toning he might have had, and should have 
had, b^t he had it not. This was his misfor- 
tune. Thonsands and tens of thousands of 
joung v^f'.n mistake this point. The heart 



KI3 CAIiNAL HEART. 105 

xuay be cultured as well as the head. Yea, it 
should be. Every affection of the better nature 
should be turnsd iiiio the channels of good moral 
culture. Usually it is not true that the narrow, 
the selfish, and the mean, make giants in wicked- 
ness. Many of the worst young men have hearts 
full of noble impulses. Nevertheless, they are 
carnal. Hence a need of reform. And often 
when reformed they make the noblest men in the 
world. Thomas would have made a fine speci- 
men of virtue and manliness if he had taken the 
right path and kept in it. The finest ship may be 
wrecked by storms at sea, and the finest palace 
may be burned by the devouring flames ; so, also, 
there are possibilities in the case of every noble 
young man of being swallowed up in the whirl- 
pool of dissipation. 

Thomas got caught, and was carried downward 
in the fearful eddies. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

HE HEARS A MINISTER. 

Seldom, while engaged as a commercial trav- 
eler, did he attend the sanctuary. It v^d.6 on a 
fine morning as he was spending Sunday at Lan- 
ders, that he was mvited to church. 

" I seldom go to church," he replied. 

" Did you never go ? " said his friend. 

" Yes, when I was a boy I always went." 

*' Well, come; go to-day, it may do you good." 

'' Of course it will do me no harm ; but what 
is the use, when I do not half believe what the 
ministers preach ? " 

" Don't you believe the Bible ? " 

"Yes, some of it." 

*'Well, perhaps the minister will say some 
things you can accept, that will do you good." 

"I don't believe in this doctrine of hell." 

" I do not wish to enter into a controversy with 
you, a stranger, but I confess I have ever felt it 
was a very dangerous thing for a young man to 
deny one of the cardinal doctrines of the Bible." 

'' Dangerous?" 

" Yes, sir. What would you think of a com- 

106 



HE HEARS A MINISTER. 107 

munity that had no law, or order, and how would 
you like to live in it? " 

" I don't consider that a parallel case." 

"It is exactly so, a clear illustration of God's 
government, and I have always noticed that 
when young men hold such views as you have 
advanced, they go astray like an unbridled horse. 
But we won't stop here to debate, let us go to 
meeting." 

''Well, I generally calculate to have a good 
time with the boys on Sunday, but as you are so 
anxious and earnest I will go." 

On entering the church he is given the best 
seat. The appearance of the minister strikes him 
favorably. How his very entrance into church 
wakes up the hallowed memories of other days. 
The invocation, the singing, the scripture reading, 
the prayer, and the preaching, all arouse the dor- 
mant energies of his soul, which have been 
sleeping for months. 

''How great a fire a little matter kindleth." 
What a contrast to the debauchery of past Sun- 
days. No cards, no revelry of drinking, no 
rattling of billiards, no profane oaths, no dese- 
crating influences are here. All is hallowed, 
sweet, blessed. The very heart-strings are tuned 
in holy vibrations. His conscience is quickened. 
The sermon is not half through before the tear is 



108 DOWN GRADE. 

stealing down his cheek. Attention is fixed, and 
riveted upon the minister. In his heart he 
admires him. What he says is good, and direct, 
and takes hold of every emotion of his soul. 
Past chances of good and evil roll up before him. 
The benediction closes the meeting, and memy 
stranger hands from Christian hearts are stretched 
toward him. A few words for his temporal wel- 
fare and good of heart are expressed, and he is 
invited whenever he is in town to come again. 
All this revives many Darhy scenes. He lives 
over the prelude of a misspent life. 

The sermon was one of those not easily shaken 
off. Every word, so pungently spoken, lives in 
his breast. He can sell goods and pairt with 
them, but he can not rid himself of this. Should 
the text, "Son, remember,'' be his portion, as 
seems inevitable, this sermon will add to the fuel 
of the fires that will torture his lost soul. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



HIS IMPRESSION. 



Of course such scenes could not fail to set all 
his powers of thought in motion. The minds of 
young men are active ; much more so than many 
suppose. Tliey can not fail to think, and few 
have learned the measure of their memory. His 
mind was plastic and receptive ; he grasped more 
of knowledge, corrective knowledge (if he chose 
thus to use it), from the preacher he had heard, 
than he thought. Another providence from the 
lover of his soul was wrapped up in that Sunday 
incident. There can be no doubt but that it was a 
godsend to give him one more chance. What 
wonders there are in the forbearance of the 
Heavenly Father ; he wants this young man 
rescued ; ho will not let him plunge into the 
vortex of hell without every possible means being 
used to save him. 

This Sunday at church deeply impressed him 
with good desires. It might have been fraught 
with the best of consequences ; and really it 
seemed to himself that now he was again called 
to turn from his evil way. The moral grandeur 

109 



110 DOWN GRADE. 

of divine truth never seemed so attractive to him 
before ; the lines of darkness and light appeared 
drawn ; no previous hour of his life had presented 
to him the heights and depths of a life of holiness 
as this one ; he was lifted up in his thoughts. 
Never did a young man have his heart touched 
with more sublime impulses. 

It did almost appear that the occasion had been 
made for him. The word preached seemed to 
him like ''the power of God and the wisdom of 
God." All there was in a good life was lifted to 
his vision. He almost forgot for a little time that 
he was so far astray and on the road to the dark 
world. But there was indeed a turn in the road, 
and now he might have taken it, and ever after 
enjoyed that heavenly light that on that memora- 
ble day passed before his vision. He was hardly 
willing during the afternoon and evening to enter 
into desecrating scenes or company. When he 
met the friend on Monday morning who had led 
him to church, he was asked how he liked the 
meeting and what were his impressions? 

" I liked it well. I never had a meeting do 
me so much good." 

" Well, I am glad," said the friend. 

" Yes, and your minister is a splendid preacher." 

^' Then you did like the sermon ? " 

"^ I did, and that part where he seemed to be so 



HIS IMPRESSION. Ill 

anxious for young men, came home to my heart, 
it almost seemed as though every word was for 
me." 

" Then 3'ou are not sorrj^ you went ? " 

"No, indeed. It really almost upset my views 
on future punishment : but to tell you the truth, 
I never did fully doubt the doctrine." 

''That's the way with most skeptics, and had 
you not better give up your doubts altogether, 
embrace the truth and escape the consequences of 
unbelief?" 

'' Well, I have been thinking about it. I am a 
stranger to you, but to tell you the truth, I have 
been a harder boy than you think." 

" I mistrusted it, but you know the minister 
told us there was hope for the worst." 

''That was what most deeply impressed my 
mind, and I believe I would try if I had not made 
so many attempts and failed." 

"It is never too late to succeed, with God's 
help." 

" I wish I had started right, or had not gone so 
far in the downward road." 

" Well, my friend, don't give up in despair." 

"I wish I could stop. But I have been think- 
ing since you pressed me so hard on Sunday to go 
to church, if I am so far gone, perhaps you may 



112 DOWN GRADE. 

meet some others who are not so bad, that you 
can save by telling my experience." 

" I will do all I can, but I want you saved, and 
hope while going on in your travels you may 
change." 

" Give me your address, and if I should I will 
write you. Good morning sir." 

How Thomas' friend did pity him as they 
parted! He formed a resolution to do more for 
young men than ever before. Balancing matters 
between desires and hopelessness, our Darby 
friend was soon again in the snare of the fowler. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

HIS LAST VISIT HOME. 

It had been a long time since his afflicting visit 
home, when Alice died. Above all other, there 
were two things that lived fresh in his mind day 
by day: Sister's death and mother's prayer. 
These bound the memories and love of home 
close to his heart. No tongue will ever tell the 
feelings that filled his breast as he rode over the 
hill and came in sight of the old Darby home. 
All hearts were glad at his appearance as he 
entered the yard. He was warmly welcomed. 
Wearied, he was glad to rest. His journey had 
been tedious and long. 

He would not have all his past record known 
to that home circle for the world. When he sat 
resting in the old arm chair, surrounded by so 
many hearts that were glad to see the face of 
Thomas once more, his heart was stirred to its 
depths with reflections upon the past. Now and 
then a question and answer bring up old scenes, 
and this raises in his thoughts suggestive inquiries 

8 113 



114 DOWN GRADE. 

about the future, of which he has occasion to 
have sad foreboding^s. Tea is over and the whole 
family circle enter into conversation for the even- 
ing. The childhood experiences, the farm work, 
and school days are all brought up for interest 
and review. The hour for worship has come. 
That old family Bible, so familiar to Thomas 
when he was a boy, is read, and prayer is 
offered. Thanks are given to God for preserv- 
ing the son who has been so long absent, and for 
giving him one more visit to his friends. Good 
night is the word all around, and they retire. 

The visiting child is given the best bed. Con- 
science must converse a little before he sleeps. 
His attention is called to what he might have 
been, what he ought to be, and what he is. He 
thinks himself to sleep. 

The rest is refreshing, and the following morn- 
ing is bright, and a happy daj^ is anticipated. 
While the usual routine of duties are being 
attended to, he visits the woodshed, the stables, 
and all the out buildings, to look at the pigs, the 
hens, and the stock. He looks through the garden 
and the orchard. Ml these ha,ve an interest to 
him such as they can have to no other. Many a 
little piece of work performed by him when a boy 
is still seen. Breakfast and morning prayers are 
over. The horse and carriage are brought up, 



HIS LAST VISIT HOME. 115 

and most of the day is spent in calling upon old 
friends. 

Another night brings the dawn of a beautiful 
Sunday morning. Church and Sundaj" school 
present many marked changes. A few years 
have left the impress of time upon the church. 
The paint is dini, and signs of decay are all about 
the building. Almost every pew has the changes 
of age. There are many vacant seats either by 
death or removal. A good many who were boys 
and girls with him are now seated about the 
church, grown into manhood and womanhood. 

The Sunday school presents a sea of new faces. 
His friends recognize and greet him. They can 
not fail to see enough of the signs of his dissipa- 
tion and debauchery to arouse suspicion. It was 
so manifest that his friend Will, who had several 
years before embraced religion, feared his state as 
soon as he put eyes on him. He watched him all 
through the sermon. 

Thomas had heard but one sermon since the 
funeral of Alice. Being a young man of large 
impulses, he was easily affected by the preaching 
of the word. Will discovered the falling tear and 
deep emotion. He improved his opportunity to 
do the visitor good. And this new word to 
Thomas only shows how much is done to save 
and bless voung men who are disposed to go the 



116 DOWN GRADE. 

downward road. Is it not strange that they will 
persist ? And this is an undying worm that will 
gnaw at their souls forever. Will was kind and 
faithful. He urged that he now stop his down- 
ward course, repent, and change ere he brought 
his parents down with sorrow to the grave. 

Returning from church his mother called 
Thomas' attention to his sad appearance. She 
thought of her prayer at the time of Alice's death, 
and inquired if he had made no improvement. 
Little did she know how low he had gone. He 
could say but little. She feared with a mother's 
anxiety. When supper was over, his father took 
him aside and opened his heart freely. His good 
advantages were reviewed, his mistakes were 
called up, and the good advice he gave Thomas 
on the day he took him to Holly academy was 
referred to. Here again the father used every 
incentive in his power to bless his son. The boy 
listened with respect and interest ; but he was too 
hardened to incline to the ways of good and 
virtue as he once did, even though his father 
urged it. 

That night the family prayer clearly showed 
the labors and anxiety of the day. There were 
tears and sobs and ejaculations of prayer that 
could never be forgotten. Neither Thomas nor 
his parents could sleep much that night. All 



HIS LAST VISIT HOME. 117 

passed a long night of sleepless anxiety. The 
morning came, the breakfast and family prayer 
were over, and the loved son, for whom so much 
had been done, and said, and felt, left home for 
the last time* 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

HIS RETUEN FROM HOME. 

He is not ignorant of the difference between 
going home and going from home. A young man 
of his knowledge had left home a few years before, 
with the brightest hopes and the greatest dangers 
before him. His hopes were in the best of friends, 
brilliant talents, and good advantages. His dan- 
gers were from bad company, dissolute habits, and 
demoralizing influences. The dangers swallowed 
him up. He was overcome. Friends were alarmed 
and disappointed. It seemed that a sad fate for 
him was inevitable. Debauchery had well nigh 
paralyzed his brilliant talents, and spread over his 
path darkness and gloom. Yet in the midst of 
all, he saw and felt the force of his situation ; and 
determined to make "one honest effort" to save 
himself. He did it. And soon his portion was 
health, wealth, and happiness. His case fully 
proved to our Darby friend that the worst dissi- 
pation of a young man can not make his case 
hopeless. 

None were more surprised at the absolute 
retrieval of this young man than Thomas Prone. 



HIS RETUKN FKOM HOME. 119 

And it became a mighty incident to arrest his 
thoughts as he returned from home. His whole 
soul was moved with the idea of the " one honest 
effort." And at this moment, by the considera- 
tions of his own soul, his father and mother, 
brothers and sisters, all his friends at Darby and 
elsewhere, his moral worth, his influence the few 
days he lingers on earth, his desires for heaven, 
and his dread of hell, better a thousand times had 
he, even now, though he was in the meshes of sin, 
made such an effort. He knew now that it could 
be done. He said in his heart, '' I ought to do it." 
Yet he lingered along the hours of his meditations 
in indecision. He rode alone. It was a long, 
weary ride. He had a grand opportunity to look 
over the past and the future. 

As he nears the city, fond anticipations of the 
greetings of his friends take possession of every 
impulse of his nature. He thinks of the Brown 
boys, the Sutton family, of the Misses Langdon, 
and very many in whose company he delights. 
They are true worldly friends, but when by their 
associated deeds of frolic and pleasure he is led 
into trouble, they will not, they can not deliver. 
Better he had never known them. It is late when 
he reaches the city. Soon as practicable he is in 
the retirement of rest. He is alone. It is a good 
.time to make a little thought visit to Darby ere 



120 DOWN GRADE. 

he sleeps. He can not entertain one thought of 
home other than that of blessing. He does really 
wish the situation about him was different. That 
his associates were pious young men and women, 
ministers and good people. This is what his 
heart craved. But of these he knows none. His 
situation is just what he has made it himself. 
Feeling compelled to accept things as they are, 
he falls asleep. In the morning he meets all the 
greetings he expected. The day is one of a social 
kind. In the evening he is waited on by a few 
friends and a banquet for his pleasure is proposed. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

SPECIAL PARTY AND FIRST GLASS. 

It was in the Sutton family that the banqueting 
party was talked up. They were a family of large 
and fashionable influence. Not being besotted by 
intemperance, Thomas had managed to make a 
very good position with the more fashionable 
circles of the city. He was as much of a favorite 
with the young men and women, as he had been 
with the boys in school days. He had won them 
and they had won him. There were very many 
who were ready and eager to second the move of 
the Suttons to get up a party; a sort of reunion 
on his return from a long absence, for he had 
been on a trip of several months in commercial 
business, and his visit home was at the close of 
this trip. After arrangements had been matured 
to have the gathering on Thursday night, the 
various committees began to plan the details. It 
was thought first to have it at the Suttons, but 
accommodations for dancing seemed to forbid, 
therefore it was decided to hold it at Milner's 
Hall. Every desire was, to make it a grand affair. 
George Brown was appointed to confer with 

121 



122 DOWN GRADE. 

Thomas and make known the wishes of his 
friends. He seemed quite pleased that so much 
honor should be bestowed upon him. Honors 
sometimes do a great injury. As preparations go 
on, the interest in the affair increases among his 
friends. They are determined it shall be the best 
thing of the kind ever held in the city. Arrange- 
ments are made for the excellent city band, the 
best liquors and highwines, a fine supper, and in 
case of a storm, plenty of carriages to bring in 
the guests. The invitations are quite select and 
numerous. Some of the people wonder that so 
much attention should be given to him. But they 
are told, "he is from one of the best families in 
Darby, is a fine fellow, has won for himself a host 
of friends, and is worthy.*' How many who have 
corrupted themselves in darkness and sin, and 
rendered themselves unworthy of their origin, 
are for a time led on in paths of respectable 
society. 

It is a beautiful evening ; the friends are in 
high glee ; all is ready. The gathering is rapid. 
Nearly all who were invited have come. Thomas 
never looked better. He is surely the lion of the 
hour. It is a time of anxiety and danger to him. 
All the attentions of the occasion can not ward 
off the parental effect of his late visit home. 
Thoughts of home will arise in the midst of the 



SPECIAL PAKTY AND FIRST GLASS. 123 

glee. Of course he had no hand in arranging 
the entertainment. For several years he had 
studiously withstood temptations to intemperance. 
Little did he think this was to be the fatal 
night when he would be ensnared. At an early 
hour the dancing began. 

Soon he is introduced to the party by Miss 
Lizzie Sutton. He makes his bow amid the 
vibrations of cheerful hearts and smiling faces. 
It needs but a little more social intercourse for 
him to be ready for almost anything to please 
the behests of his friends. After a few rounds 
upon the floor it is hinted to him that refresh- 
ments are being served in the small room. Two 
or three couples pass in. The drinks are arranged, 
and Lizzie hands him the first glass. Of course 
he yields to the temptation. Sad indeed ! Fatal 
beyond description of pen or tongue ! It is but 
one, and once ; but if he had not taken the first 
he never would have taken the second. Is this 
party to be the means of adding fuel to the already 
kindled flame, burning in the breast of this 
young man? It was not so intended. And 
Lizzie had not such a thought. It was designed 
to honor him. But is it not strange that so 
many choice young ladies will persist in such 
a thing, though they have had warning on warning 
of the most fearful character? The ice is broken. 



124 DOW>^ GRADE. 

And now Thomas is more than ever disheartened 
in thoughts to do better. It is true, he goes from 
that party hardly aware of his position. But 
ere long, in his better moments, he is aware of 
it. At the supper, traces of the glass were seen 
in his actions. Not very much, however. 

At parting, all pronounce the occasion a very 
satisfactory one. But little do his friends mis- 
trust the dishonor rather than honor that they 
have done him. 

They will learn it in another day. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE NIGHT OF GA^IBLING. 

Thomas had much knowledge of the various 
schemes of gambling. He had given attention to 
this matter. His surroundings had been such as 
to lead him this way. In public and private he 
had learned the ropes of chance games. But 
there was not one honest impression in his heart 
that gambling was a good thing. With sympathy, 
earnestness, and interest he had entered into the 
occasions of this evil. Not a horse-race, a match 
ball game, a faro bank, a prop table, cards, poker, 
or any other way or opportunity where men put up 
their money, but that had his apparent attention. 
By word or act he had often given them his 
assent. Of course, in the main, he would cover 
this up to public gaze. Xo gambler really likes 
to be known as such. Retreats of seclusion are 
always sought for this profession when it is pos- 
sible. This sin can not bear the light. He knew 
it had the universal condemnation of God and 
man. Although he gave it his sympathy, he was 
not an expert. He only entered into it because 
there were times when it was very fascinating, 

125 



126 DOWN GRADE. 

and he had committed himself to this way. Light 
and darkness were thus strewn in his pathway. 
He had not been taught in early life that this was 
right. No, no ! Every thought of his knowledge 
was against it. It was only by acquired habits 
and associations that he had fallen into line with 
gamblers. 

Of course he knew the objections, and, while 
he indulged, every dictate of his better judgment 
condemned it. He had learned that it wrought 
evil, and only evil, continually. His friend Aaron 
Rounds had met his fate in the state prison by 
it, and the event of his temptation, his crime, and 
incarceration were fresh in his mind. He remem- 
bered how he called at Elder Darwin's (a Presby- 
terian elder) to see the girls one evening, and was 
led astray. Although the girls were members of 
the church, they had indulged too much in doubt- 
ful games to have a good Christian influence. 

Aaron was a fine young man of good moral 
influence and integrity. They invited him to a 
social game of cards. He declined, saying he 
knew nothing about the game. They taught him. 
He played and liked it. Soon he became an 
expert, and was enticed to gamble. While trying 
his hand with some sharpers one day, he lost all. 
Not fancying the '^beat," he was tempted to take 
some money from the post office, try again, 



NIGHT OF GAMBLING. 127 

retrieve the loss, replace the stolen money, and 
all would be well. He lost again, was detected 
in his crime, and sent to prison for a term of 
years. This was Thomas' friend. He knew all 
about him, his course, and its effects ; and every 
act of his o\yn q-amblino- caused tremblins: for 
himself. Yet he had become so fascinated with 
it that to desist seemed very difficult. 

Many of his friends visited the Band House 
club-room. He was told that on Saturday night 
the boys would meet there and have a good time. 
He knew well what the ''good time" meant. In 
closing up his employment with the commercial 
house he had quite a little sum of money coming 
to him. This made his financial situation easy 
for the present. But alas ! gamblers never know 
how long they will have enough to pay their bills. 
He thought of losing and gaining ; but the 
temptation was great, and, indeed, it would not 
do for him to "go back on the invitation of the 
boys." 

It is about nine o'clock when he goes in and 
finds quite a large number of his comrades. 
Already the money is going up and down. He 
takes his seat as a witness of the chance lines. 
He sees the winning and losing. His money 
begins to burn on his finger ends to make a " haul." 
Gamblers usually think only of winning when 



128 DOWN GRADE. 

they put up their money. He puts up about a 
quarter of what he possesses, and wins. He tries 
again and wins. Then he stops. The drinks are 
then taken. He takes lemonade. He has never 
drunk anything stronger, only at the party. Now 
an hour passes as he watches the course and 
fortunes of others. Again he tries his hand, and 
wins a large amount. It is truly tempting his 
confidence with certainty; and really he almost 
fancies that he will ''win the pile from the boys" 
and go home with a small fortune. After another 
hour he tries and wins again. Every emotion is 
excited at his good luck. The drinks are in order 
again. Now it is strong drink. His second glass. 
Sad ! but in keeping with his downward course. 
Frenzied and excited by strong drink and ill- 
gotten gains, as he approaches the table he cries 
out : " I'll bet all I've got with any man on the 
board." The bet is taken — he loses, and his last 
cent is gone. How disappointed and disheartened ! 
He sits back with a look of angry disgust. 

Of course, he don't treat any more, but at the. 
next drinking he cares little what he takes. As 
a few more hours pass on, he lingers to see the 
gains ; but he has little interest. 

Going to his bed friendless (the dissolute have 
but few friends when they have no money) and 
penniless, he feels like becoming a suicide. To 



NieHT OY eAKBLING 129 

thisk that many others have trod thia path before 
him does not mitigate his misery muck And to 
think of home and its calls only stings like an 
adder. He can hardly hopQ fcr re£onl^ bat 
wishes he had done very difierently* 



CHAPTER XXXV. 



HUNTING A SITUATION. 



All through his dream)^ sleep during the remain- 
der of the night, his mind is filled with thoughts 
about living, how to pay his way, get board, 
clothes, and money for necessary expenses. He 
feels that he is down, down, clear down in the 
straits of destitution. He is ashamed to make 
known his condition. The only alternative is to 
hunt a situation. But where, to whom, and how 
shall he go? The place he recently occupied is 
filled. He knows of no other. But the greatest 
difficulty in his way is his dissolute character. 
Some know it. And if every body doesn't know<^ 
it, he does. And he feels keenly the weight of 
his unfitness to be employed and trusted. There 
comes a time when the guilt of every untrust- 
worthy young man stings like an adder. This 
was his case. He could not easily pass over his 
long accumulated habits of dishonesty, bad com- 
pany, and utter unfitness to be trusted in any 
employment. It must be, then, with shamefaced- 
ness that he would seek a situation, at the hands 

130 



HUNTING A SITUATION. 131 

of any firm. He waits a little, as he staggers 
under the debaucheries of the past night. 

A few days pass, and he feels that he must act. 
He applies to Mr. Johnson, the hardware mer- 
chant. Of course the usual questions are asked. 
As well could he spend a term in the state prison 
without disgrace as could a young man expect to 
get emploj'ment with a respectable firm without 
a good showing of character. He feels this most 
deeply. Mr. Johnson calls for his references and 
other credentials. He really had none, but put 
on as good an appearance as possible. He was 
determined to succeed by any conceivable repre- 
sentation. But how hard it is to plead for a place, 
while every word and emotion are affected by 
hidden knowledge of entire iinworthiness. His 
pilfering from the money drawer, his Sabbath 
desecration, his dishonesty, and all the debauch- 
eries of the past few days roll up before him. 
His heart sinks within him, and he despairs as he 
is told that this firm does not wish to employ him. 
After attempts in several other houses he realizes 
his condition of penury and want, and even of 
disgrace, as never before. 

The morning dawns upon him after another sad, 
sleepless night, and he meets Robert Fulsom, an 
old friend of several years' standing. With the 
usual greeting he says : 



132 DOWN GRADE. 

'' Good morning, Thomas." 

" Good morning, Robert, how are you this 
morning?" 

'' Fine ; how are you ? " 

" Well, I don't get along very well. I really 
don't know what I am going to do." 

"What is the matter?" 

" You know I lost all my money when we met 
at the Band House club-room the other night, and 
I can not get a situation." 

" Well, Thomas, I can tell you of a place ; I 
just heard that Johnson, the hardware merchant, 
wants a clerk." 

" I know that, and have spent two hours there 
this morning, trying to get him to take me on a 
fair salary, and he don't want me. I suspect that 
he thinks I am a pretty hard boy." 

" Well, I do not see why business men should 
give the cold shoulder to a fellow, if he don't 
walk in an awfully strait jacket, when he behaves 
himself and is faithful in business hours." 

''Yes, but Robert, you can not make them think 
so. They want good steady hands to attend to 
their business. And I have been thinking that if 
I had taken a different course it would have been 
better for me. No boy ever had a better chance 
than I when I left home. I wish I had never 
gone in such company, and gambled. I tell you, 



HUNTING A SITUATION. 133 

it don't help a young man any, and it has about 
ruined me." 

'' But there must be some place where you can 
get in, and get enough to pay your board, any way, 
for awhile." 

'' Do you know of any place where there would 
be the slightest prospect ? " 

''Would you be willing to work as a day 
iaborer?" 

" Yes, until I could find something else." 

'' Well, I think Squire Estey would set you to 
work on the mill-dam for a few days." 

The work was hard, and he got only seventy- 
five cenls a day. It Avas a great change for him, 
but it would keep him from starving and give him 
a good f^rmfi tor reflectioni. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

NEW DESIRES. 

The most hardened character is often deeply 
susceptible of the keenest desires for goodness 
and virtue. The degraded home, the lowest dens 
of vice, the direct experience of debauchery, and 
the darkness of prison walls, all attest this fact. 
The mistakes of literary, domestic, commercial, 
political, and religious life all tell the same 
story upon this point. To wish one had done 
right in the past, and to want to pursue a right 
path in the future, is the common experience of 
intelligent men. There is rarely an exception to 
this. Then the question arises, why not ? Why 
does the whisky seller go on in his traffic ; why 
does the drunkard continue to get drunk ; why 
does the profane man swear; why does the 
Sabbath-breaker keep on desecrating ; why does 
the gambler gamble ; why does the liar lie ; why 
does the dishonest man cheat ; why does the 
negiecter of his soul go on neglecting? Simply 
because temptation is very powerful and human 
nature is weak. 

If Thomas had properly regarded his good 



NEW DESIRES. 135 

desires -oi heart and sought the help he had been 
taught was ample, and thus ceased to yield 
to temptation, he would long since have had a 
good instead of a bad character, a bright instead 
of a dark path. But he is not lost yet to desires 
for good, and wishes to escape the snares that 
are fast entwining themselves around him. The 
surroundings of his menial employment are more 
calculated to awaken thoughts of amendment, 
than to lead him down in the slippery paths of 
sin. There are no such temptations here as he 
has been accustomed to. This situation can but 
inspire him with at least desires for a nobler life. 
He sees at a glance that had he taken advantage 
of his best chances this would not have been his 
lot to-day. A good business, many friends of 
worth, perchance a happy family about him, and 
fine prospects would have strewn his path with 
roses. These scenes loom up before him. 

Do they affect him ? Yes. 

Do they stir his heart with regrets ? Yes. 

Does he see where he has missed it ? Yes. 

Does he have any hopes of amending ? Some. 

Has he any interest in others ? He wishes they 
would not do as he has done. 

Do his desires for good strengthen ? They do. 

This is but another experience in the long line 
of his hopes and fears, his safety or his ruin ; but 



136 DOWN GKADE. 

it is very much like a young man in the wiles of 
a sinful course. Yet purpose and not desire is 
the grand lever to lift up a young man from the 
pit. All the desires of a lifetime could not do for 
him the work of a true purpose. He desires to 
be true. He desires to be honest. He desires to 
keep good company. He desires to be respected. 
He desires to be industrious. He desires to stop 
drinking. He desires to return to attendance at 
church. He desires to respect and please his 
parents. He desires to accumulate wealth. He 
desires to shun his bad companions. He desires 
to have a right heart and life. Can he have all 
these ? Yes. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 

HIS LADY FRIEND. 

Agnes Long was a girl of rare gifts and graces. 
She was a native of Wales, but her parents had 
left their country, journeyed far, and moved into 
the town of Bolton while she was but a tender 
child. They were of the most substantial char- 
acter, and had aimed at the most careful and 
thorough training of Agnes. No pains had been 
si)ared to give her a good education. She was 
not only capable of gracing the most refined 
literary and respectable home, but she did it. 
Day by day she acquitted herself well in the 
duties of home. She delighted so to do. Just 
after her eighteenth birthday she united with the 
Congregational Church in Bolton. This added 
to her moral strength of character and fitness 
to enter the responsibilities of life. She had 
many attentions from her friends, young and old. 
They confided in her. The more she went into 
society the more she was admired. While she 
was neat and attractive in all her appearance, she 
was rather a plain sort of a girl. Yet every dis- 
cerning mind readily understood her great worth. 

137 



138 DOWN GRADE. 

She had never been from home very far, or long 
at a time. Now she desired to go to the city and 
visit her cousins. She had never been in the city 
before. Mr. Robert Fulsom, who assisted Thomas 
to a job on the mill-dam, was her uncle. She 
reached his house on Friday, expecting to make a 
visit of a week or two. Her bright blue eyes and 
long curls were quite attractive to the Fulsoms. 
Her choice conversation, which indicated culture 
of mind and much intelligence for one of her 
years, really excited their esteem and admiration. 
They became proud of their country cousin. 
Agnes seemed deeply interested in their fine city 
home. 

On Saturday, her cousins, William and Lucy, 
invited her to walk out to the park. She was 
greatly pleased with the fine walks, beautiful 
foliage, and the cooling fountains. Sunday morn- 
ing she was invited to go with the family to 
church. Tlie citj congregation seemed very dif- 
ferent from the one she was wont to attend at 
home. Yet she was interested and blessed. 

In the afternoon Thomas called to see his friend 
Robert. He felt very different!}' from what he 
did when he was in the commercial business. 
The mill-dam work had been quite humbling to 
his pride. He was invited to sit in the parlor 
with the family. Soon Agnes and Lucy came in, 



HIS LADY FKIEND. 139 

and he was introduced to Agnes. She was retired 
and unassuming in her manners. Yet she entered 
somewhat into conversation. Thomas was pleased 
with her gentle and attractive appearance, and he 
had discernment enough to detect much intelli- 
gence by the few words she spoke. 

Nothing was farther from their thoughts than 
that they should ever have more than a passing 
acquaintance. But on returning to his work 
Monday morning he finds in his thoughts that her 
blue eyes, beautiful ringlets hanging over her 
well-formed shoulders, her lady-like appearance, 
as well as culture of mind, had touched a spring 
in his heart. Daily through the week he thought 
of his newly-found friend. Could this be mutual? 
Of course he did not know it, and she did not 
know it. His habits of personal appearance had 
never been loose, and he was capable of making 
a fine showing in dress and conversation. Sun- 
day afternoon he was in his best trim if he did 
come from shovelinsf dirt at the mill-dam Satur- 
day night. 

Agnes, like many an unsuspecting country girl, 
seemed to think that all the young men of the 
city must be of the '^ first water,*' because they 
lived in the city. Poor girl ! how little did she 
know that much of wrong and sin are covered 
up by good clothes and pleasant conversation ! 



140 DOWN GRADE. 

She had been unconsciously led to feel an interest 
in Mr. Prone by the Sunday afternoon call. 

In his meditations through the week he formed 
no purposes for a decidedly better life. But 
he did think seriously of many things. He 
thought of his dangers from strong drink, yet 
apprehended little trouble from that quarter, as 
he had tasted drink but a few times. He con- 
sidered in some degree his habits and manner 
of life, and thought he had better change. Satur- 
day night brought a letter from his mother. It 
was a good one. That evening he spent alone 
in his room. One hour at least was employed 
in thinking of his life, Agnes, and the future. 
Sunday afternoon he called at the Fulsoms' again. 
And to his eye Agnes seemed more charming 
than the week before. Subsequent events proved 
this mutual. A little quiet, private conversa- 
tion informed him that she would return home 
on Tuesday. He had thought that if he had a 
a good lady correspondent it might help and 
shield him from temptation. And possibly it 
might be better for him to choose a wife. 

She consented to a friendly correspondence. 
Soon after her return home, she seemed to have 
special interest at the post office. The Monday 
following, a strange letter came into the family, 
addressed in a gentleman's hand -writing — a 



HIS LADY FRIEND. 141 

stranger's hand. Her interest to cleyour the con- 
tents could be easily detected as she broke the 
seal. The impression passed through the family 
that Agnes had got a beau during her visit to 
the city. Is it true that in her pure, gentle 
heart she is falling in love with a worthless, 
dissolute fellow, a gambler, a Sabbath breaker, 
and a debauchee ? Is it true that her parents, 
sisters, and brothers are being flattered with hope 
that she has become interested in some good 
young man ? They incline to think she has, and 
rather hope so. 

The letter is answered. The die is cast. And 
Agnes Long has taken pure and honest steps 
that a few years later she would gladly retrace. 
The correspondence is not hurried. Thomas 
never thinks of her only to admire her more and 
more. His occasional letters add to her fancy 
for him. When the Fulsoms conversed about 
him in her presence, they spoke of him as con- 
nected in some way with a business house. She 
supposed he was clerk or book-keeper. Mistaken 
young lady ! Her letters to him are of the 
choicest kind — womanlj^, kind, affectionate, and 
of excellent influence in every line. They really 
win his confidence and love. He reciprocates 
as far as his state will allow. And, while he 
does not let go the hands of old associates, he 



142 DOWN GRADE. 

does desire a worthy life. The several months 
he works at the mill-dam are those of trial to 
him. He feels the force of what seems to him 
a humbling situation. He watches for a chance 
to change as soon as practicable ; and from a 
quarter he little expects a door was opened for 
a situation to labor in a dry-goods house. A 
visit to Bolton about the time he quit work on 
the mill-dam and began in the store, gave 
brighter prospects. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A RAY OF HOPE. 

How true it is that when a young man is deeply 
enlisted in ruinous habits of sin, he often ''comes 
to himself." A new acquaintance with some 
worthy young lady seems to his imaginary fancy 
to change the whole theater of his life. Sin is 
laid aside, repented of, refrained from, forgotten. 
Good comes. A new character is formed. Repu- 
tation is soon established, and respectability is 
won in all hearts. Prayer, faith, and hope spring 
up in the soul. Are these possibilities ? Can they 
become stern realities ? They may and may not. 
Visions are often delusive. With the youth, 
buoyant hopes are often dashed to the ground for 
want of a true purpose. Many an honest motive 
has attempted to build up a hope of good on 
visionary desires. This is false. As well might 
a house stand built on a sand-hill. The failure 
was for want of heart consecration and determi- 
nation, firm as a rock. There can be no doubt 
of the success of any young man in rising from 
the lowest stages of a fallen life when a ray of 

143 



144 DOWN GRADE. 

hope is presented, if he will seize and hold his 
opportunity. 

Thomas could have done this. He could have 
done it with or without acquainting Agnes of 
his past life, present state and temptations, had 
he been willing to take her hand and press for- 
ward to the prize. She stretched out a hand of 4 
purity, love, wisdom, and helj) to him. He called 
for it, won it, but did not hold it. Her letters 
were fraught with the best of influence. They 
really did him good. Often while perusing them 
he would feel an attachment to her on the one 
hand, and an unworthiness on the other. Yet 
he hoped. He knew he was unworthy of her, 
but hoping matters would amend under her good 
influence, he continued to write as good letters 
as he could, and received hers. The clanging 
chains of evil habits hold him down. He does 
love the society of the wicked and the profane. 
This can not be disguised. It holds him strongly. 
He knowQ its baneful influence and threatening 
aspects. At times he inclines to break the intel- 
ligence io Agnes, that he is not what she sup- 
poses, and, perchance, drop the correspondence. 
He dreads this. Yet he thinks should he do so it 
miqjht possibly open the way for her to do a 
wirk of blessing. He hesitates. But incidentally 
an opportunity offers for him to make another 



A RAY OF HOPE. 145 

visit to Bolton. He now concludes that he will 
go and make a full statement to Agnes of his 
life, condition, and desires. 

It was a pleasant day when he got off the 
stage and rung the bell for Agnes. She appeared 
in a beautiful dress, with a sweet and radiant 
smile that betokened large hope for his troubled 
heart. More than ever he discovered in her a 
large womanlj^ loveliness. She was all that she 
appeared to be, and even more. Not so much 
could be said of him. But his hope was that 
the Agnes he had learned to love might be the 
means of saving him for this world and another. 
Can a young man expect a young lady friend, a 
bride, or a wife, to save him if he will not give up 
bad habits or shun bad company? No. It is 
impossible. The visit was pleasant, yea, more, 
it was delightful to the unsuspecting Agnes. 
Thomas failed in his attempt. He could not 
open his heart to Agnes. During the meditation 
of his ride on returning to the cit}^ he did not fully 
despair. A few days after he called at Fulsom's. 
He had not been there for quite a while. They 
gave him a warm welcome. They had learned 
that he had written their cousin Agnes a letter, 
but did not mistrust that they had formed such 
attachments to each other. They were quite well 
acquainted with the course of life Thomas had 

10 



146 DOWN GRADE. 

pursued, and while they had strong friendly 
attachments to him, they felt it might be a very 
serious matter for him to become intimate with 
their cousin Agnes Long, and especially by their 
introduction. 

Thomas sought a private interview with Robert, 
and opened his heart fully and freely to him. 

''Do you really love the girl?" asked Robert. 

" I do," answered Thomas, with much heart 
emotion. 

''And do you think she loves you?" 

"I know she does. And, Robert, you know 
what a life I have lived, and that I am unworthy 
of such a girl." 

" Yes ; but if you choose you can do better, and, 
perhaps, you had better try." 

" Try. Bless you, I have tried enough to save 
forty young men in the downward road, if that 
would do it, and, indeed, I went over to Bolton 
to see Agnes the other day, fully intending to tell 
her all and ask her to help me be a good man, but 
my heart failed me." 

" Well now, Thomas, this is all nonsense. You 
can get right and be what you ought to be if you 
will. I could do it if I got down where you are. 
I know I could. It is true I have not gone as far 
as you. The night I met you at the club-room I 
only went in to look on. But I tell you, Thomas, 



A RAY OF HOPE. 147 

you had better write to Agnes, and tell her just 
how you stand. I know she will help you." 

Thomas did so. Agnes read the letter with 
much pain, but candid consideration. It did not 
cool the ardor of her love. Her reply was gentle, 
lovely, wise, decisive. He felt that he could recip- 
rocate. What a chance. And what a source of 
happiness to himself, his friends, and the world, 
had he made it so. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

HIS LAST CHANCE. 

Every well has a bottom, every sea has a bed, 
and it is a long road that has no end. The 
months and years of dissolute habits of this young 
man have all had their vital significance and ten- 
dency to a fearful end. The weight of a vacillating, 
wavering life is upon him. While his desires are 
good as ever, his habit of delay to reform has 
grown stronger and stronger. The object of his 
love sets herself with all her heart at the task of 
saving^ and blessing^ him. She assures him of her 
love and firm devotion to his life's happiness, 
and urges by all the strength of prayer and words, 
that he at once take a decided stand for reform, 
that he quit his evil associates and habits, form 
good associations, and start at once on a new road. 

It is true, that to all human appearance, if the 
love of father and mother, and the many dear 
friends God has given him, can not induce him 
to change, there is little hope of what others 
might do. Yet Agnes is not without hope, and 
Thomas does not despair. If he is saved, how- 
ever, the proper means must be employed. He 

148 



HIS LAST CHANCE. 149 

must be willing, yea, determined to accept the 
means, and receive the blessing. Whatever of 
attempt and failure there may have been in the 
past ; whatever of means and measures may have 
been used for his rescue heretofore, there is 
certainly a good chance now. God is ready, 
God's son is waiting, the Holy Spirit is calling, 
the memories and prayers of loved parents still 
linger for him, sisters and brothers, some on 
earth, and some in heaven, still whisper saving 
words in his soul; the unforgotten advice of dear 
friends yet impresses him with almost irresistible 
force, and Agnes Long, loving and being loved, is 
chosen to dart these constraining powers into the 
depths of his moral nature. Her oft repeated 
letters seek to faithfully do this work. It is a 
work which an angel might well covet. She feels 
that it is a mission her divine Master has put upon 
her. Thomas is deeply impressed that an unseen 
hand has guided Agnes to him and him to her. 
He feels that his ardent desires, so long cherished 
by night and by day, may yet be realized. " Is 
it possible," he often asks himself, "that now I 
am to be led out into a life of goodness, such 
as I should have entered several years ago?" 
The future looks brighter to him than for a long 
time. His good wishes and purposes increase. 
Daily he hopes for better days. But, alas I the 



150 DOWN GRADE. 

worm is still eating at the vitals of his moral 
nature. 

Has he quit Sabbath-breaking? No. 

Has he ceased profanity? No. 

Has he left off keeping bad company ? No. 

Has he entirely quit intemperance? No. 

Has he stopped gambling? No. 

When the good letters of Agnes came he would 
resolve to improve, and would somewhat cease 
from the evil things to which he was accustomed 
— stop doing wrong by degrees. Could he suc- 
ceed? As well might a traveler expect to reach 
the right end of his journey when once in the 
wrong road, without stopping, turning squarely 
about, and getting into the right road. 

In the midst of his hopes and fears he chanced 
to meet Robert Fulsom, who said : 

''Well, my friend, have you got right with 
Agnes?" 

''I followed your advice.'^ 

"Did you?" 

" Yes ; and she felt it keenly, but seems to be 
attached to me more than ever." 

"I tell you, Thomas, she is a splendid girl." 

" I think so, and the letters she writes me are 
just grand. They are full of good advice." 

" AVell, Thomas, you will do a good thing if you 
get that girl." 



HIS LAST CHANCE. 151 

"I am convinced of that." 

'' Have you made up your mind to reform and 
prove yourself worthy ? 

" I think I will." 

''Well, it is the best thing you can do." 

" I have been thinking if I don't, it is my last 
chance." 

He felt this, and his next letter informed Agnes 
of his anticipated visit to Bolton. Her reply was 
fraught with the deepest interest and the largest 
consequences. He anticipated much from the 
visit. He had many friends who were warmly 
attached to him. When he was invited to the 
club-room, he thought he would go once more, 
and then quit altogether. He was honest. But 
this '' once more " is the downfall of many a choice 
young man. It was a few evenings before his 
visit to Agnes. The visit was very enjoyable 
every way, and their engagement in marriage 
seemed to give him a new lease of life. He 
had gifts and traits of character to fulfil every 
promise of the hour. In his heart he had a 
true purpose. And to carry out this would 
have given lasting happiness to the beautiful 
and gifted Agnes. She wanted this and he 
wanted it. But purposes not only need to be 
professed but lived. 



CHAPTER XL. 



HIS OCCASIONAL GLASS. 



His daily pathway was as full of temptation as 
ever. No class are more beset with temptations, 
and none are more susceptible of temptations, 
than young men. It is a marvel that Thomas had 
so long withstood the temptations of intemperance 
to the extent he had. Besides the drinkino: at 
the ovation party he never drank but a few times. 
Yet this is no assurance that he may not some 
time be branded with intemperance. He had for 
a long time been addicted to the use of tobacco. 
He smoked and chewed. He had never dreamed 
that this habit was the handmaid of intemperance. 
He had hardly thought that nearly all drinking 
men are given to this filthy habit, and that it 
surely helps on in the downward course. That it 
was filthy, inconvenient, and expensive he had at 
times believed. And it was doing its part of the 
work that was slowly but surely leading him on 
to destruction. If a young man smokes he will 
often find himself with smokers ; if he is treated 
once in a while to cigars, he must occasionally 
treat others ; it is but a step from this to strong 

152 



HIS OCCASIONAL GLASS. 153 

drink. As the chain is made up of many little 
links, so every little step that does not improye 
the man, must do the opposite. 

A letter from Agnes was received just as he 
was to go on a social ride with two of his gentle- 
men friends. He read it hastily and with interest. 
Its advice was to shun his former company. He 
at first thought that he would excuse himself and 
not go. But he had not courage for this. He 
said, " It will do no harm to go along if I am onl}^ 
civil." So has many a young man said, in taking 
a wrong step. When they decided to return by 
the way of the Corners, he feared he might fall 
in with some old friends, and that it might be to 
his injury. And true enough, they stopped at the 
very place where he had some time a.go spent the 
Sabbath in debauchery and gambling. He was 
warmly greeted by his old friends. His comrades 
and himself were invited to tarry a few hours. 
They declined and said they must hasten back to 
the city. " Well then, gentlemen, you must have 
something to cheer you on. We've got some of 
the best old rye you ever drank." These boys 
had fallen strongly to drinking since Thomas 
spent the memorable Sabbath at the Corners. 
Agnes' letter stared him in the face. All the 
good impulses of his nature aroused his intention 
to lead a better life. He had no thouo^ht that he 



154 DOWN GRADE. 

would fail in this way. How seldom do young 
men carry out good purposes while they keep bad 
company. The glasses were passed around, and 
he declined. This surprised the friends who had 
taken him to ride. 

''What does this mean, Thomas?" said one. 

'' I never did drink much, and I have made up 
my mind to quit altogether." 

" Well, I heard you had fallen in love with a 
girl up at Bolton, and that she was changing you. 
Is it so?" 

" I think I will give up drinking entirely, any 
way." 

" Well, if you must do that, just join us once 
more here, and then quit." 

" Of course that can't kill me," he said. This 
was another step. His purpose of heart and 
pledge to Agnes was again broken. 

Going home his comrades told him it was all 
foolishness to be so strait-laced about such little 
matters. An occasional glass never hurt any 
body, and he had better enjoy such little privi- 
leges while he could, and it would do no harm. 
They had an influence. They called on him the 
next evening for a social hour at cards. The 
games were quite enjoyable. It was common for 
the boys going out to take along a bottle. After 
playing for a time it was passed around, they 



HIS OCCASIONAL GLASS. 155 

repeating what they had said the day before, 
that an occasional drink could do no harm. He 
yielded again and accepted the situation of intern- 
perance on that line. Once committed, together 
with continued alliance to his old companions, 
what could he expect from such a position ? 

With the shame, the subtlety, and the deceptive 
shrewdness of drinkers, he was able, for a while, 
to just take an occasional glass. But when the 
adder repeats his stings the poison is sure to take 
effect sooner or later. He followed it in social 
circles, then kept a bottle in the store, and by and 
by was bold enough to visit the saloon. Of course 
this was not very difficult just after his evening 
game of billiards. He fully intended to give up 
billiards entirely ; but how could he do it when 
he would not give up billiard company ? And 
holding with a strong hand the dissolute compan- 
ions that had been his bane so many years, it 
would take more than the wise, loving letters of 
Agnes and a visit to Bolton occasionally to rescue 
him from the snare of irretrievable ruin. 



CHAPTER XLI. 



HIS KEPUTATION GONE. 



If there is anything in this world to be sought, 
won, and prized, it is a good reputation. And 
this is worth more than rubies to a young man. 
Indeed, what would life be worth to him without 
it? Show me a young man whose reputation is 
gone, and who realizes the sad fact, and I will 
show you a young man whose life is a blank, 
whose death must be in the darkest shades, and 
whose eternit}^ will be forever amid the pitfalls 
of untold sorrow. Sad indeed must be the mem- 
ories of such. Everywhere it is within the grasp 
of a young man to go up or down ; '' to save 
his life or to lose it;" to live to do good or to 
do evil, just as he chooses. 

There was not a day during the life of Thomas 
after he came to 3'ears of understanding, when he 
did not apprehend this most vital and significant 
matter of his moral character. This is almost 
invariably the case with young men. Hence so 
much is done to cover up sin. Why the screens 
and painted glass which hide the revels and 
debaucheries of the saloon ; why so much hiding 

156 



HIS REPUTATION GONE. 167 

away in secret places for cards and gambling; 
why does shamefacedness so often put the young 
man to the blush the first time he enters a billiard 
room; why has attending horse-races at county 
fairs, associating in base-ball clubs and kindred 
practices come so much to be dreaded, and con- 
tinually looked upon with suspicion by all classes ? 
Because there some of the brightest hopes are 
blasted, and many a promising reputation is sadly 
blackened for this world and another. Here the 
watchful demon waits for his unsuspecting prey. 

Must our young friend who left his fine home 
in Darby a few years ago, with a record that any 
young man might be proud of, go down in obliv- 
ious night? Where is that reputation so well 
formed, so hopeful, so charming to his friends, so 
promising to himself? Let the associations of 
bad company; the Sabbath desecrations at the 
Corners and other places, the broken resolutions 
to do better, the unheeded pleadings and prayers 
of a pious mother, and the abused and rejected 
counsels of many loved friends answer this, not 
unanswerable question. They can tell. 

Prospects for wealth, happiness, good friends, 
and friendship, a name worth having in any com- 
munity, and a home snug, true, and delightful 
all these are gone. He realizes the fallacy of 
trying longer to attempt to maintain a position of 



158 DOWN GRADE. 

worthiness and goodness. A wrecked reputation 
forbids it. He has feared this, but hoped to 
avoid it. The time has come when his worst fears 
are realized. He deeply feels that there is not a 
ray of hope for better days. It is indeed dark. 
There is not a single person to whom he can look 
to even mend his wrecked character. He feels 
that both God and man frown upon him. Of 
course there is some truth in the adage, that 
" there is always hope as long as there is life," 
but his days, and months, and years of sin will 
not permit him to believe this. 

The tone of his letters to Agnes, his conduct at 
the store, his intercourse with his friends, and the 
downcast countenance, all betoken that his char- 
acter hangs at least by a brittle thread. He has 
many friends, it is true, who would be glad to think 
differently. But they have watched his course 
too long and seen too many mistakes to hope. 
His employer even is becoming suspicious that 
he is not worthy or trusty. And he does not 
know of a single worldly or business man to 
whom he can look for favor. Of Christian 
men he knows none to help him. For years 
he has neither sought their acquaintance or 
influence. He staggers under the load. Days 
and nights are long and dark. And every time he 
flies to his cup to drown his trouble it does not 



I 



HIS REPUTATION GONE. 159 

help the matter. It is very evident that his hopes 
for life and his standing with his friends are noth- 
ing like what they once were. No one thinks or 
speaks of him with care or cheer. Even those who 
have helped to lower him down, step by step, fail 
to give him influence or respect. And the few 
who had hoped to restore his reputation begin to 
despair. 



CHAPTER XLII. 

HIS REVIEW OF MISTAKES. 

Mistakes are mistakes. Sometimes they can be 
corrected, and sometimes they cannot. Often 
they are very serious, even fatal, and often they 
are not. Better a thousand times, in a usual sense, 
to avoid them. And with care, wisdom, and 
good drilling they can be avoided. There was 
scarcely one but that Thomas might have escaped 
if he would. His opportunities had been almost 
remarkable. Few boys have better. And in his 
review he understands this. But now it seems 
too late ; and so it is. It would take a miracle 
to turn back the wheels of his fortune — or, we 
should say, misfortune — and let him journey his 
pathway over again. 

The week has been dreary and sad to him. 
The heavy load of misspent years is too much 
for his oppressed mind and shattered condition. 
He can hardly perform store duties. Closing up 
on Saturday night, his cup is sufficient to overcome 
his sorrows for a time. Sunday dawns upon him 
to behold his sorrow, as he pores over the days, 
months, and years of the past. 

160 



HIS REVIEW OF MISTAKES. 161 

He remembers tlie fine Darby home, fraught 
with the best of influences and most promising 
blessings to start him out in the world, and sees 
it was his own folly that he did not accept the 
situation and improve upon their rich legacy. 
He reviews his mistake in yielding to the pro- 
fessed Christians who enticed him to play his 
first game of cards, and thinks he should have 
said No, It is a matter of the greatest regret 
to him that he foolishly treated the family altar 
lightly. It is painful to him to think how he 
treated with neglect his mother's kind words 
when he left home for Holly academy, and 
memorable are the wise words of advice his 
father gave him during his day's ride to the 
academy. He mourns that he did not put them 
into immediate and continual practice. His school 
days he reviews with no little interest, and con- 
cludes that his great mistake then was that he 
turned away from the students' prayer meeting 
and took other company. How much better it 
would have been had he taken the right stand 
here! That Sunday ride — the first one — while 
at school, he feels was his first real step in Sab- 
bath desecration. He regrets it. 

In neglecting to answer the questions of his 

mother's letters he sees he did wrong, and says, 

" O that I had opened my heart fully, and kept 
11 



15*2 DOWN GRADE. 

hold of my dear mother's hand ! " He calls up 
the time of revival in Darby, when his school- 
mate, Henry Arnold, who had been converted, 
urged him to be a Christian. He is sorry, and 
thinks that was a golden moment when he might 
have taken a path to shun the dreadful throes 
of anguish through which he is now passing. 
He sadly remembers the time when he considered 
matters of religion somewhat, attacked the Bible 
as not a divine book, and imbibed false doctrines. 
This he considers one of the saddest mistakes of 
his life. He keenly feels that it is much easier 
to learn than to unlearn. Starting in life aimless, 
no real purpose, position, profession, or belief in 
view, he understands now has been a bane in his 
life. He says to himself, " How much better had 
I considered, decided, and started with a good 
end before me! I should not have been here." 
He is now thoroughly convinced that reading 
infidel books has injured him, and that it is better 
to let them alone. 

And how much he deplored his wrong position 
when in the drug store at Brown's Station ! He 
contended he had a right to spend his time in 
dissipation out of business hours if he chose to 
do so. By persistency in this he lost his situa- 
tion. He now sees that this was really the first 
step in business matters that wrecked him for 



HIS KEVIEW OF MISTAKES. 163 

life. And how bitterly he weeps as he reviews 
the death and funeral of Alice, and his mother's 
prayer. Tender in heart and strong in desires, 
he feels that then he might have turned his 
course. But now — this sad, sad hour! — ''O, 
what a mistake ! " he says. He thinks of the 
visit with Anna Doty, his old schoolmate, now 
Mrs. Duncan, when he visited her at her uncle's ; 
and the kind and earnest words she spoke to 
him, urging him to change his sinful course, lest 
it bring him to a bad end. "O !" he exclaims, 
''my pathway has been filled with angels of 
mercies to stop me in this fearful career. Would 
God I had heeded their voice ! " 

And now he reflects upon his wild, reckless 
course the Sunday he gambled at the Corners, 
and how he stole money from the store drawer 
to pay the expenses of the Sunday ride to Stony 
Brook. He breathes with a heavy sigh as he 
thinks of these dark pages of his experience. 
He lingers around the opportunity afforded when 
he heard the minister when he was a commer- 
cial traveler. It was a good time to change, and 
he wishes he had. His last visit home is memor- 
able. All was done to bless him that could be 
done. It was an unpardonable mistake in him 
— yea, will prove his eternal folly, that he did 
not change at that time, but rather took up on 



164 DOWN GRADE. 

his return with the company of the Suttons and 
Langdons and others, who led him into intemper- 
ance. He cries out from the depths of this lone 
chamber, " Would that I had done differently ! " 
O, that bitter wail ! And here he looks over his 
rapid downward steps — the dark night at the 
Band House club-room, his destitution, desires 
to reform, his God-sent angel Agnes to save him, 
and the despair that filled his soul while drinking 
at the Corners during the ride with his two 
friends. The dark picture of that Sunday morn- 
ing, as he reviews the mistakes and misused 
opportunities of his short life, no tongue can 
describe. And the cup of his sorrow runs over 
still more as he thinks of the pangs that must 
soon pierce the hearts of his dear Agnes and 
his parents, unless some change can be effected, 
of which he has no hope. 



CHAPTER XLIIL 



TOO LATE. 



Was it barely a visionary notion of the brain, 
wrecked and tortured by the follies of sin, that 
led Thomas to say " Too late ? " No ; there was 
too much reason for it. And, indeed, his case did 
bear the imprint of hopelessness. There is a say- 
ing that ''There is always hope as long as there 
is life." He knew this. But his repeated efforts 
to amend forbade his thinking that this would 
fit his case. He saw nothing but dark shades of 
despair. 

After the Sunday of review, when he felt the 
weight of his situation, as in no previous day 
of his life, he returned to the store in deep dis- 
tress. He felt, he knew, that the end was near. 
On Sunday he attempted to write to Agnes. He 
could not. He had hitherto been able to write 
her with faint hope, but he could do so no 
longer. His downcast countenance all through 
his routine of store duties told the sad tale of 
his desponding heart. Really he would be glad 
to find a friend to whom he could unbosom his 
feelings. He could think of none. He almosit 

165 



166 DOWN GRADE. 

contemplated suicide. Every possible point in 
which he might discover a ray of hope was 
examined. He found none. ''Too late" was 
still the ringing language of his heart. It 
seemed as if he would give worlds, did he com- 
mand them, to change his situation. No man 
or body of men could have made him believe a 
few years ago that he would ever come to this. 
But so it is, and the situation seems unalter- 
ably fixed. Is it not strange that so many 
young men will not believe the dangers of their 
pathway, when so many who have just passed 
over it, warn them ? The very nature of the 
case compelled this young man to the conclusion 
that all was irretrievablj^ lost. Every impulse 
of his nature convinced him that there was 
naught for him but the forebodings of a lost 
soul. Already the fires of remorse are kindling 
in all the avenues of his moral nature. To let 
go a single sin seems utterly impossible. The 
excitements of business, responsible cares, and 
earnest desires to extricate himself fail to give 
his troubled heart one soothing touch. Gladly 
would he now effectually hear the kind words 
of a loving mother, but it is too late ; gladly 
would he heed the counsels of father, sisters, 
brothers, and friends, but it is " too late ; " gladly 
would he have now shunned the nights of gam- 



TOO LATE. 16T 

bling, the card parties, the nights of dancing, the 
intemperance and debauchery, and evil habits 
through which he has passed, but it is '' too late ; " 
gladly would he recall the blessed opportunities 
of improvement to elevate his character to happi- 
ness, but it is now " too late." 

Above all he thinks of the good resolutions and 
fine chance he had, in forming acquaintance with 
Agnes, to reform. But all is failure, and it is now 
^'too late^ And how his heart sinks within him 
as he feels gathering over him the gloom of his 
condition. His once strong bodily frame is shat- 
tered, his nerves are tremulous, and his appetite 
burns for strong drink, and all these things 
admonish him of the fearful wretchedness which 
must soon surely befall him. The fears of his 
friends are fast being realized. 



CHAPTER XLIV. 

HIS UTTER WRETCHEDNESS. 

His letters home and to Agnes say that he is 
ill. This is all they can say. But more is feared. 
The reality of his sad condition is traced in every 
line of his short letters. Although he has not 
asked her to come, his aged mother soon starts to 
visit her son, over whom she had spent so many 
days and nights of anxiety. She had hardly 
expected to find him so far gone. On her arrival 
she is at once told that "he is in a wretched con- 
dition of body and mind. That during the night 
his brain was burning with fever, and that now 
he is in a high state of delirium." What pangs 
fill her breast as she enters the room. He knows 
her, and as he grasps a mother's hand, she cries 
with a bitter wail, '' Is this my loved boy, who left 
home a few years ago so fair and bright ? " From 
a shattered frame, a crushed heart, and delirious 
brain he bursts forth with bitter weeping. She 
reads at once on every line of his countenance his 
position. She sees what he has been and what 
he has come to. He pleads that he never intended 
to come to this. He wrings his hands and wishes 



HIS UTTER WRETCHEDNESS. 169 

he had never been born. His dear mother's heart 
is pierced with pain. 

But it is time for action. She at once deter- 
mines to do all possible to save his life, and if 
this can not be done, to comfort him, and prepare 
him to die. She consults the physician. The 
father, and sisters, and brothers are sent for. 
Robert Fulsom called to see him, and for the first 
time his mother learned that her son was engaged 
in marriage to Agnes Long. This added a new 
pang to her sorrows. She asked Thomas about 
it, at the same time telling him of his dangerous 
condition. She found that he loved Agnes dearly 
in spite of his wayward course. The doctor 
showed great interest in Thomas, and gave him 
the best treatment possible. Arrangements were 
made for the best of care. Every hour there 
were the strongest exhibitions of a mother's ten- 
der love. He talks considerably of Agnes, and 
at times cries out, '' O that I had kept my promise 
to her, to stop my sinful course and do better ! " 
Many of his friends, the very ones who led him 
down, inquire after him with the greatest solici- 
tude ; they pity him in his wretched state, and 
wish he could recover. It would seem that they 
could not but review their steps of folly with this 
young man. 
. Just at evening his father and sister arrive. 



170 DOWN GRADE. 

Other members of the family will come the next 
day. No tongue can tell the deep emotions of 
that father's heart as he enters the room, and his 
tearful eyes look upon his dear son of so much 
prayer, love, and counsel, but now amid the 
groans of a form shattered by dissolute habits, 
and whose sun was going down in darkness just 
as he was to enter the mature years of manhood. 
He can not speak. The anxious sister bends over 
him with the kiss of her love. She does not utter 
a word. Thomas, sinking under the load, is 
keenly sensible of his situation, and out of his 
crushed heart exclaims, ''The sense of my folly 
is greater than I can bear ! " 

Agnes arrives on the first train in the morning, 
and when he learns of her coming, he bursts into 
the wailings of a crushed heart. She is calm 
and composed, yet the silent tear and sorrow of 
countenance told plainly that her heart was 
crushed at the very thought of looking in the 
face of one who had won her love as no other 
ever had. That is a dreadful moment as she 
stands by the side of his bed and holds his hand. 
All that she has sought to avert is before her as 
an avalanche of stern reality. " May God have 
mercy on my dear one," is her prayer. Thomas 
sinks amid his unutterable wails of heart, and it 
is feared he will not rally again. Soon he recovers 



HIS UTTER WKETCHEDNESS. 171 

a little, and opens his eyes once more upon her 
bright eye and beautiful face. His sad end is 
approaching, and the doctor requests them to 
prepare for the worst. His parents are completely 
crushed with a sense of his state. They could 
bear his death by fever or accident, but this is 
unbearable. They cry to God from the depths 
of their hearts to have mercy on their boy, and 
sustain them in this dreadful hour of trial. 



CHAPTER XLV. 



HIS DOOM. 



The minister, Rev. Mr. Bowman, is sent for. 
He comes. He is a man of gentle but decided 
character. His manner is soothing and attractive. 
He sees at once that there is work for his faith, 
prayers, and words of consolation. Thomas is 
s:lad to see him. He realizes that he must soon 
die, and without hope. He listens for a moment 
to what the minister says, and then, burning with 
delirium and frantic with a keen sense of his con- 
dition, as if the demons of the pit had him in 
their grasp, he wails forth a bitter cry, "i'TW lost! " 
This stirs the tenderest emotions of all around 
his bed. It is heart-rending. The ejaculations of 
prayer, which go up to God for mercy upon him, 
are indescribable. 

How dark the scene. How untold the agony 
of Agnes, parents, sisters, and brothers, as they 
stand around the bed and close his eyes in death. 
— Never to be forgotten scene. — He is gone. — 
Thomas Prone, of Darby, is gone forever. No 
ray of hope is left behind. Memories of his life 
and death will stand over his grave as monuments 

172 



HIS DOOM. 173 

of his folly, while " the mourners go about the 
streets." 

The coffin is brought and preparations are at 
once made to remove the body to Darby for the 
funeral. When the message reaches the neigh- 
bors of his boyhood home, great sadness goes from 
house to house. All that possibly can be is quickly 
done in making ready for the funeral. The pastor, 
who preached on the occasion of Alice's death, 
prepares as best he can for the solemn services. 
But how different the scenes, the thoughts, the 
tears, and the lessons of this dark hour. All is 
dark. No hope. The whole community for miles 
around are there The meeting house is crowded, 
and many are without. Occasionally, since he 
left home, some hint has been given of his down- 
ward course. Yet few have suspected the reali- 
ties of the sad tale that the last day or two has 
gone sweeping through the neighborhood, and has 
brought the crowds together to mourn as they 
never did before. How impressive the scene as 
that vast concourse pass by the coffin and read : 

THOMAS PRONE. 

Aged 29. 

The friends enter into earnest sympathy with 
the deeply afflicted family. No previous funeral 
occasion ever witnessed so many tears and heart 



174 DOWN GRADE. 

sorrows. The procession is very long ; and the 
army of young men who follow him to the grave, 
firmly purpose that they will not follow his sinful 
footsteps. 



CHAPTER XL VI. 

YOUNG MAN, HEAR, HEED. 

The beginning and closing of the career of 
Thomas Prone appeals to you. His bright begin- 
ning points to your happy prospects, and his sad 
end says to you, heivare. Many a young man from 
all the different grades, impulses, habits, and 
stations of society will glide his eyes over the pages 
of this book. But the writer would not for a 
moment even suppose that all young men incline 
to such shame and folly. Yet many do. And all 
are more or less in danger of the snare of the 
fowler. True it is that many are caught before 
they are aware of it. And the sole object I have 
in giving to the young men of our land the sad 
tale of the life and death of Thomas Prone, is to 
arrest attention and shield many from ultimate 
ruin. 

You are, my young friend, unsuspecting now, 
and will you listen? You must know that in the 
activities of young men, they are constantly alive 
to the pleasures and attractions of the world. 
And in these they enter into every conceivable 

175 



176 DOWN GRADE. 

form of virtue and vice. Some aim jfirmly at good 
moral manhood ; others at a brilliant education, 
while still others have little care for good morals 
or education, but carelessly pass into sin. And 
some fully understand every wrong step, but say 
they can stop whenever they please. And then 
there are a class who determine to do right but 
constantly hold the hand of evil associations. To 
which class do you belong ? You have seen the 
pathway so full of pitfalls and moral death into 
which this choice, good designing young man 
went. Will you shun it ? Don't say, " I am in 
no danger." This very thing has been the ruin 
of many a young man. '' Let him that thinketh 
he standeth take heed lest he fall." The enemy 
of your whole life and soul is watching for you as 
with an eagle's eye. He plots your destruction. 
Do you believe it ? Are you a young man of good 
home, parentage, opportunities, and prospects? 
Then don't disappoint yourself or others. Do not 
enter or travel the wrong path. So far as the 
dangers are concerned take just the opposite of 
the young friend of this narrative. Are you a 
young man without home, parents, or friends to 
guide and sustain you? Then decide at once 
upon a life of uprightness. Determine with pur- 
pose as fixed as the laws of the Medes and 
Persians, that you will lay hold upon everv means 



YOUNG MAN, HEAR, HEED. 177 

possible to this end. Heed the warnings of this 
book. 

Are you a young man who has already taken 
position of true character for earth and heaven ? 
Let eternal vigilance be written on your banner. 
Your success and ultimate victory will require 
this. Do you think because several years have 
passed and you have not been molested by the 
arch deceiver that you are secure in the refuge 
of moral security ? Remember that many a battle 
has been lost just as victory was thought to be 
won. Courage and wisdom will be the price of 
your victorious warfare. 

I would not press to your heart undue pleadings. 
No, no. I am aware that the pride of a young 
man can not be touched quicker than to even 
suggest a suspicious word about his moral integ- 
rity. Young men like to be thought well of 
whether they are worthy or not. They consider 
their character as the apple of their eye. Good 
or bad, they are sensitive to the touch, concerning 
its upholdings. And never since the world was 
made, was this more so than it is to-day ! and 
this, too, when so many characters of high stand- 
ing are tarnished with sin. Even moral character 
is weighed in the pools of gambling. Every 
conceivable device is resorted to, to ensnare our 

best youth. Young man, hear, heed ! Brains, eye, 
12 



178 DOWN GRADE. 

ear, heart, hand, and foot you may now put under 
contribution to save yourself. God will help you ; 
the Holy Spirit will help you; Jesus Christ will 
help you ; and all good men and women will help 
you to stand in the hour of the strongest temp- 
tation. 

Remember that Satan's beguilings not only 
flaunt themselves in places crude and low, in 
profane babblings, intemperance, cards, gambling 
with many games, dissolute company, harlotry in 
dark places, and the most fearful debauchery, 
but also in high places of professional honor and 
respectability. Even here not a few young men 
take their first unsuspecting steps in wrong 
doing. You, my friend, can not be too careful 
in choosing your society, watching every avenue 
of influence, and deciding rightly every position 
you shall take. Even the smallest things are of 
the greatest importance in tracing the steps of a 
young man. If this be true in others tracing 
his steps, it is certainly true in his taking them. 
Do not understand me to urge you to put on the 
mask of solemnity and a hideous appearance over 
your youthful face, that should be smiling with 
love, beneficence, and attractiveness. No young 
man should be wilUng to be repulsive. Winning 
manners, winning words, and winning influence, 
should go far in making up the inventory of his 



YOUNG MAN, HEAR, HEED. 179 

good possessions. If he will, he may constantly 
have a mine of wealth in the storehouse of his 
moral resources. If you will have this, and use 
it daily in some form as a felt power to bless 
others, it will go far as a shield of defense. Such 
is the nature of your very being that you must 
be busy, and you will be very likely to do good 
or evil. Such is life. Then cast a reviewing 
eye over the pages you have just read, and 
beware ; be helped, shun the temptations of the 
evil way, be guided, and see to it that your jour- 
ney be not in the winter — in the cold blasts of 
doubtful actions and still more doubtful results ; 
but go in helpful brightness for the world you 
live in. Don't choose the opposite. 

An artist begged the privilege of painting the 
picture of a more than ordinarily beautiful boy. 
Its rare loveliness attracted the attention of every 
beholder. Seldom is such an object found to 
paint from, and seldom is a picture of such rare 
excellence seen. Days, weeks, and months pass 
on, while persons of distinction and honor become 
interested in its beauties. The press and social 
circle discuss its merits. Now and then some 
one is heard to say, " I would like to have seen 
him when he became a man." Years roll on, and 
one day the painter, looking upon it as it graced 
the walls of his studio, said to himself ''I wish 



180 DOWN GRADE. 

I could find a contrast of face to put by its side.'* 
For this he hunted earnestly and long. Alms- 
houses, asylums for the insane and the inebriate, 
low places of vice where are seen the worst grades 
of debauchery, prisons, and courts were visited. 
He entered the cell of a murderer. The distorted, 
crime-stained countenance before him made him 
shudder. He inquired of the history and life of 
the incarcerated victim of crime. To his astonish- 
ment he found his lovely, innocent boy-face and 
the one before him the same. Young man, you 
see the possibilities for l)lackness and the possi- 
bilities for brightness. Which will you choose ? 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Nov. 2005 

PreservationTechnotogies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Dnve 
Cranberry Township, PA 1606t 
(724)779.2111 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



016 063 435 2 # 



